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From where I waited,
the River Styx looked like an ocean.
It stretched beyond the sandy banks where I stood,
weaving its way through rooms and hallways.
The water floated in air, like spirits do.
I knew it to be cold to the touch.
In that sea of white coats, I saw a pallium:
a black cloak draped over the ferryman.
Charon—his eyes warm and smile frail—
come to bring me home to a place of rest!
Alas, his boat drifted onward;
these timeworn eyes could not follow him for long.
But tomorrow, I will wait on these banks again—
till this coin is no longer in hand,
till these feet are no longer on sand.
Competing interests None.
Provenance and peer review Not commissioned; internally peer reviewed.
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