Pre-Op Poem

Night, night–

It is left but for me
to draw close the tired drapes
on a cold December full-moon.
To lock the frosty doors and extinguish the lights.
To diminish the heat and halt all machines.
To take the last pills and climb the too-long stairs to bed and sleep.
The darkness and quietude happen all by themselves.
No conscious will or choice be required.
Just acceptance finally and letting go
of all that dark aloneĀ and yet to come.

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