Sightseers into Pilgrims, by Evangeline Paterson 

I used to think --
loving life so greatly --
that to die would be
like leaving a party
before the end.
Now I know that the party
is really happening
somewhere else;
that the light and the music --
escaping in snatches
to make the pulse beat
and the tempo quicken --
come from a long way
away.

And I know too
that when I get there
the music will never
end.

Continue reading →