Ghat

I woke this morning like
Son of Sam, listening to a
dog in a distant yard
howl his dark message of
death and despair,
speaking to me in a barking
tongue that I could
somehow understand,
lying here in bed
with the sheet
covering my body,
as on a ghat above the Ganges
waiting on the eternal flame
to begin my cremation,
or sitting lifeless and alone
in a parked car in Queens
at night.