“How oft when men are at the point
of death have they been merry! which their
keepers call a lightning before death.”
                                        Romeo and Juliet, Act 5, Scene 3

Where will you be, God,
  when life-time warranties are running out,
  familiar faces muddling and fading,
  lovers’ own language sliding into recitation;
  and when I am wanting to rally
  to welcome one last poem,
  I keep colliding with that ancient passion
  for sacred sleep?
Where will you be, God,
  during kisses I can’t return
  but only savor forever,
  when precious hands as though my own
  are touching for the last time
  my body’s prayer places?
Where, God, will you be as my odyssey ends—
  this one that keeps folding
  back upon itself as though to start anew,
  this odyssey now running out of road?
Will you be so much me that I could miss you,
  so present that I am at last fully realized,
  or so far away that I am left  
  with the nevertheless of mere surrender
   and my own bright laughter?