COSTUMES

Sometimes in the crevices of night,
when the only sound is my own breathing

I ponder the mystery of death
and what costume it will wear when it comes calling

Will it assume the identity of a tumor
coarsing through my organs like a wild stallion,

trampling everything in its path until
I lay dormant, like an ancient artifact?

Will it spring like a Halloween prank,
dressed like an embolism

racing toward my brain, only to burst
its arterial boundaries in a tsunami of blood?

Or maybe it will skim the streets, all metallic,
careless as a tropical wave,

oblivious to traffic signals as it flies unrestrained
until it T-bones me as I contemplate dinner

Whatever costume it wears,
I will refuse to recognize it.

Instead, I will turn my back, naked,
and deny its presence.

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