while she lay dying

i noticed that
there is a distant
port that the dying
sail towards, without
them knowing, but the
boat is in the water,
it's in their
speech, the movement
of their bodies,
an instinct to flee
the world that they
can no longer
particpate in,
and the feeling
is strangely mutual,
though unadmitted,
for the two cannot
coexist, the living,
the healthy must press
on, while the soon
to die, must raise
the white sail and
shove off towards
unknown shores. it's
not sad, or wrong
in any way, it's nature
separating what must
leave, what must stay.