February: Day Twenty-two

If I knew that I would die today,

or soon,

I would not worry about

where to live, or

the view from my window,

or the fallen branches in the yard,

or money.

I would let it be all right

to watch the birds at the feeder,

and talk to them, and thank them

for coming, to pick up the branches

and lay them gently in a pile

at the side of the yard,

and go down to the sea,

take off my shoes, and walk

barefoot in the sand, even though

it is February,

and say

thank you, thank you, thank you,

for everything.