I seek refuge with the Lord of dawn.
I sign power of attorney documents.
My parents are aging.
Their shrouds on the top shelf 
of the guest bedroom closet in a 
plastic Safeway bag.
Make sure to wash mine
I don’t want it to be stiff and uncomfortable,
my mom, on the wrappings of death.
Tha thunk, tha thunk, goes my heart.
Strolling through dusk, my dad and I 
languorously discuss the texture of fried 
and floured then baked sardines—I eat the head
when it’s really crispy, he says. Me too, Baba.
Did you know they’re the most nutrient dense fish?
I could talk about sardines with my dad
on this road for two whole lifetimes.
Lately, I repeat things to myself twice:
you’re alive, you’re alive; it’s spring, it’s spring;
tha thunk, tha thunk. This life, a pause
moment in the shade beneath 
generous branches of a verdant tree. And then
we move along, hopefully with a soft, buttery shroud. 

‍Say, I seek refuge with the Lord of dawn.
Lord of the bubbles in my niece’s tub and Lord
of that plastic spongy shark from which she gleefully 
sucks water between her teeth. Lord of the forever plastics
in the shark, Lord of the antidote to all this, 
Lord of the potent sardine and its crispy skull. 
It’s brutal out here after dawn. The sun’s quick intensity
beneath which all is exposed, line and wrinkle
like the trunk, seek shade, seek shade, tha thunk, tha thunk.
I don’t think they really make sardine toys
like they do sharks. Isn’t that just the world. 
What if everything turns out okay, I wonder, at dusk.
I’ve been working out at the gym of catastrophe for so long
clanging metal, heavy bars. A breeze 
from across the road carrying fragrance off the stream
of all the good things happened. My skin cools, sweat dries. 

‍Say, I seek refuge with the Lord of dawn.
Everything coated in soft light,
sardines glow iridescent, stars of the sea,
meteor shower through water.
Sharks giggle and there are bubbles,
shiny, big, big, bubbles, gentle, pink, no edges
no ends, just smooth round forever in every direction,
every road stretching with conversation,
no seam in the cloth, break beneath the big tree,
ink dried on the document. Tha thunk, tha thunk.