His death wish was I’d carry a lamp to his corpse; He said he needed light to shine on where he died. “I’ll know death is fine if you do just this,” he said. It was my own lamp that I carried to the place; I hauled it through streets, imagining the falling. I walked it through the icy air and wept. I used to think crash landings were cool. I guess that I used to be sort of a fool. Definitely dead, he somehow didn’t seem a corpse; There was less blood from his head than suspected. I held his cold hands and put dimes on his eyes. He was gone like words deleted. He was as over as an old event. I plugged in the lamp, and The light shone bright; I hoped he knew death was fine.