we hoped it wasn't a metaphor
during the last week of your life
you said (and kept us hoping):
when I get out of here
I want to swim in a large calm pool of warm water.
get my swimming suit ready
we made plans
iridescence
go and ride a thousand days, my clear-eyed messengers, scour all points of the compass and find me a glimpse of iridescence for shining guidance into the unknown on the day that I die
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