If only they let you know when your time was up,
you’d be able to do some of the things you’ve put off.
For years, or even lifetimes.

Bicycle across Scandinavia,
walk the Camino de Santiago,
ask those you’ve wronged for forgiveness.
Oh, so many, many things left undone.

The end, more often than not,
sneaks up behind you—
you unaware of what is about to happen.
With not even so much as a “Hello” or
“How’s it been down here?”

Nothing.

You sense the gnarly arms as they encircle you.
Smell the stinking breath, foul body odor.
Feel the nails—long, dirty, curled inward.
The teeth— yellow and worn, but still sharp.

Then that’s it.

There’s no time to cry to God for help.
No time to call out the names of your loved ones.
No time to remember your dog,
a puppy when you brought him home thinking
you rescued him, but, in fact, he rescued you,
made you see for the first time
that you were worthy of love.

No, in that final moment there is only terror.

Then it’s over.

Just like that.

Nothing like you ever imagined it would be.