Witnessed my Own Autopsy

On a concave hardwood slab
(carved in the 16th century
by the Portuguese or possibly Dutch)
I witnessed my own autopsy

Chipped out my draft obituary
on a petroglyph red canyon walls
– surely covered up soon enough
by flooding rivers and reservoirs

Guilt, grief, cold and sorrow
ride in the seats beside me
loss settles in, ticket punched
ready for the full night ride
in which sunrise lasts forever
evidence of absence of time

Roll past all the caskets
rotting for eternity – 
there is “really nothing inside“ 
but exhume just to see

Vasco’s bones are dug up
and carried to his home
I’ll leave yours in the ground
and sit beside alone
with flowers and coffee
both black and soft

Then softly read you endless poems
by Whitman, Baudelaire and Keats
turn leaves like the Chinese fishing nets
seen on Kochi beach