do not be afraid.

Leave the stones in your throat and learn

to rise with the croaking loons, drifting

as they do and as they have since the 

beginning of time.

Or since the beginning of this lake.

When the land parted and stones dropped

down the cleft of the trench, coursing

tube of your throat.

It was all natural, the hardening and the

breaking of the earth.

It is all natural because the loons are still here

and the money tree on the porch still 

twists up and up.

Up in the ether larks are flying as they always

have, singing with the loons, breathing

just like you.

This heaviness in your throat makes you

wonder if you cannot escape the end of

breath — but let your eyes

your gentle eyes

let them gaze upon a world where stones

will fill your throat and where loons will sing 

their ugly songs until 

you understand you cannot escape 

death but that maybe you can escape 

its warning.