I was once a man

I was once a man,
loath to fail,
happy in my struggles.

Now the window is up in deference.
My hand on the trim of sheet
has the topography
I remember from a shuttle photo
of the dunes of Afghanistan.

The breeze crosses my face
a last time.
My wind is gone.
I am not choking.
It is a long moment.

The sky is bright beyond the
trees of this new house.
I see by the light in the
room in a white arc across
the wall beyond the blanket, footboard,
and Sam's Julia, blond
with pearls.

I could not have known
all this before.

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