from my forthcoming book, "How God Ends Us" (University of South Carolina Press 2009)

            Suddenly the body says night. -- Cyrus Cassells

The body is not

an insomniac, some

twilight sleepless walker.

It turns to lie down

as it pleases, at times

against your will.

The body chooses

its separate departures

to backrooms of the house.

Goodnight heel, boomerang

of bone and tendons.

Goodnight feet,  arch-less

pestle-crush of earth.

The doctors come

to chop you down

and cover you with strips

of white linen. See,

your legs, your trunks

of redwoods stripped

of their flesh bark

are endangered. Goodnight

kidney, fallen already

to a deep coma,

needing machines to eat

and drink. For it,

there is no waking.

Your left arm long

retired and under the

sheets. Uncle, lay

your perfect right

that never knew shunt

or needle, lay it down

so the I.V. can land. Together,

we say goodnight to the heart

that has failed you once.

But the eyes, they refuse.

Your mouth does not

wish to go so soon. So

speak your farewells, Uncle.

Speak your hundred more

farewells. Watch this holy

body of birds flap

across your window.