this is the end

i can picture myself a small old woman
living in a lighthouse and smoking cigars.

it will be after i have gotten beyond
innocence and cynicism.
it will be when all are children to me.
i will be small, feeding sugar to ants,
wanting to renew the world, be less evil,
and pray for the people written about in the news.

i will no longer be separate from the dirt,
or the moon, or the tiny tiger lilies, or the soiled pants,
or what caused them to be soiled.
I will again be impractical, like the poets, not
pretending to be more important than i am.

i will wish i had been this way my whole life
as i blow smoke to the ocean from my ashy lungs.