The prime minister
Of Iran has died on what’s
Been described as a

Forested mountain-
side. In a fog the chopper’s
Blades could not cut did

God instead align
His path onto a slide in-
To a canopy.

What was it like to
Descend unto the unknown?
The imprecision

Of movement without
Vision; the feeling of free-
ly falling downward,

Swiftly tumbling through
The dark, crashing to earth, then
Rising to Barzakh,

The broken branches
Twirling like traffic guards, un-
sure what’s going where.

The night disperses
Before the sun rises, but
The forest remains,

Somewhere after life,
But before the Hereafter,
Like a mute spectre.

Through the woods a breeze
Layers the leaves of trees (browns,
and yellow-greens) and

Weaves a Persian rug.
Forgotten in the sun, it
Ages in the coun-

tryside… so peaceful.
I’m dying to go far a-
way, listen to some

Creatures chatter with
Discretion, respectful of
Rural quietude.

Was it peaceful, too,
When he smashed down and this life
Ended in thicket

Dense, thick with plants, to-
gether cycling: life, death, then
Life again? All’s done:

A corpse, lost in a
Copse, finally left alone,
Rotting in the shade.

© 2025 Calder Kusmierski Singer