He lay in his bed, his head tilted at an awkward angle upon his shoulder. He sleeps…the morphine induced sleep of the dying.

There is a strangeness to the features of those who hover near death.

A deepening of shadow around the eyes, a solidity to the ridge of the nose, a poignancy to the once-tended mustache.

The spirit illuminates the body from within-I see photos of a younger, healthier man. Smiling. Living.

Where is that luminance? Trapped within a failing shell? Or sitting beside me, also looking on in wonder….

The moment of death is recorded on certificates, yet…until we make the journey ourselves, we suppose…..