And if it gets colder and colder,
then I want to go out the way
the bean sprouts do—with their leaves,
though darkened, still in the shape of a heart.
And if it gets hotter and hotter,
then I want to go out like the ripples
that waver above the pavement
softening the edges of whatever can be seen.
And if Thanos really did snap his fingers
and half of all living creatures turned to dust,
I want to go like the Cheshire Cat,
my smile the last part of me to exist.
And if it’s a fast death, then
let me come back as a sparrow
so I can visit those I love
and sit on their porches and sing.
And if it’s a slow death, and I suppose
that’s what life is, may I talk too much about love.
May I go out saying thank you a thousand times
a day, astonished and gasping with praise.