The older I become
the more I find a visitor
walking into my mind.

I would say he's unwelcome,
but his presence is rightful.

Maybe this is the last weak breath
she draws, maybe this will be the
last time he drives off, maybe

there will be no will, no sorry's,
no tear-felt moments of "you've made me
proud"—maybe this is how they go.

Perhaps this recipe...