Agonal Living Poem by Patti Masterman

In dreams the dead are never done dying,
for they are never fully alive and never truly dead;
their chests still rise and fall imperceptibly,
movements not measurable, not synchronous
and the eyes move randomly
when you least expect it.

The funeral arrangements never get made,
because the deathbed never gets vacated;
but plants still need watering, and dogs feeding,
and daily life makes it's grudging repertoire of demands
so that to catch their final breath, and that long distance stare
is not so easy as it would seem.

Though in real life, people stop clocks hands
and call priests into the room, and contact mortuaries,
take pains to recall exactly what it was
they were doing, when the cross-over occurred-
And sometimes later, they stop living, too-

while waiting for something, they were never sure of
while looking for something, that is never clear.