We lie side by side in bed.
Smile at each other.
"How does it feel being dead?"

First thing I notice
is how much simpler life is.
Not a damn thing depends
on a red wheelbarrow.  Plums.
Fishhouses.  Some guy named
Henry.  It's just an awful lot
quieter 
Shoulders shaken about
the Union dead, kingfishers,
hospital windows;
no more phreakin' self-portraits.
Not a jar in sight.
I can take it or leave it:
garbage; howling Mirabell.  Ariel.  The heck

With why someone is or is not
a painter.  Groundhogs.
Packet-boats, for godsake!