The Suicide’s Satori
I hover about my life
as the ghost malingers near the corpse—
not appalled, unamused.
Wondering how long the feeling can last,
I touch your hand.
Half hopeful, facing one more dawn,
I rise to kiss the sun.
Expecting to burn, I feel no heat.
Awaiting yet the vision manifest,
I perceive just light—
mere, yellow light.