after-life

by Estan E. Rodriguez

there’s a pulsar out there somewhere

strumming 50 beats per minute

to this Spiral Arm, where my arm spirals

round a pillow. my sleepy heart clicks

into rhythm with the universe.

dead skin cell trails, stones in Lake Superior,

instances of entropy, outbreaths of C02

are all the strokes i brushed on everturning Earth.

i brought a worn-down larynx to the grave.

buried again in the next ten thousand years

my tired bones will crumple into a bed

of sediment at last. rest will find me

lying dead, spirit wide awake.

traces of my heartbeat keep spinning down

with the distant pulsing stars,

everlastingly alone.