so near, forever, to cross is to pass into, and I would like to die one day, nowhere in particular, nowhere I would not want to leave, though I doubt by then the "where" will matter much -- most of what remains is inside us by then, loved ones, if they are there for me, ghosts in my head by then, and I would talk to them as such, and they would convey the strangeness of my last words to others, my "rosebuds", if I were to utter any, so maybe I can add that to my list of things to do, because it is a beach thing to think about and things are warming up -- an object I was parted from when I was eight-years-old, like Kane's sled, a medium of travel, something to lie down on, ride into the darkness with, forever
