irony of the dying

we stay awake,
agonizing over
the alignment and
dissembling of our bones

you say:
the worst way to die
is unchristened by
philosophy

let us make
arrangements. you
choose existentialism
over me and the
spine of your old church

I pray to
integrity, as if honesty
will save me from death,
and I will never
lie beneath this earth

and I hold your hand,
thinking of
the way some
learn the methods
of love, the discipline of hope
through the squinting
black pupil of a shotgun

curious, how
interested eye of
death reminds us
of what it is
to live.