I saw you living in a casket
your feet turned upward
your head below two weeks ago I saw you rocking in white wicker singing toora loora
now your irish eyes no longer flutter and roll they sink and close your lips do not mutter and hum and my mother no longer bathes your face and hands that is what death looks like from the outside but what did you see from within?
was it a beacon? a spinning lighthouse in the atlantic of your mind maybe it was nothing but a feeling something warm sweeping you up
and tugging your soul out through your toes grandfather hunted rabbits until one day he heard them speak "mercy mercy" they said
maybe it was the same spectral voice you heard when the lights weren't there and all sensations were void and in the coming quietus you heard this voice singing toora loora li hush now don't you cry