When the scraps which identify me are burned,
when my muscles and tissues have forgotten all they’ve learned,
there will always be the moon.
You, the living, can always see
exactly what I saw when I wrote
these words—ushered, hopefully,
into one, simple, hopeful, note.
One gesture of goodbye
under that bright silence above—
Simplicity. Simplicity. Simplicity.
And so much more, my love.