How To Die

In her eyes a fiery calm,

for the first time less than compassionate,

for the first time, less than loving,

even caring, burned on its own.

She had always given the gist of herself,

but before she died, she turned that off

and looked at me as a spirit would,

from as far away but as well defined,

as a star or comet, and exactly that cold,

with indication that I, her son,

the world, the living, we were on our own.

She, for her part, was leaving.