Fluff my pillow. Draw the shade, shut all the light outside. I am dying of thirst. Place the cup to my lips, Atlantic currents for my parched tongue. I must ask ancestors how to greet the coming waves as joy. Warm blanket. Tucked feet. Sit God in my lap to comfort anxiety before I witness a final wink and breath without knowing what is final. I wish to huddle with faith. Call my mother. Call my wife. Call my child. Call my sisters. Call my father. No notes for wishes or demands, I'll leave and won't worry how the worm would consume my flesh, how the ash disperses. In its death, the sun will incinerate all, the world a crematorium. Raise the bed, lift my head, sponge me clean, adorn me in a fresh johnny. When death strides through the door, it will bear witness for its tardiness: my long-gone granny to carry me home before flames can covet my corpse.