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If I were to die today:

the sun would thrust its head over the back wall
and extend its arms to tickle the guava leaves;
the day would arrive at the front on dusty feet
and leave dirty half-prints all over the house.

The road outside would hum in an old rhythm.

Far away, a flower would burst from its sepals
and a cloud in the sky would change shape to oblige
the passing wind.

A fish in an ocean would try to fly – and succeed;

“…your manuscript accepted…”, a young author would read.

If I were to die today,
one day would pause – one day would fray!

after which
tomorrow would follow yesterday,

and other days, all on their way.