THE EVAPORATOR

Daniel Bailey

Suppose that I died

by crashing my car into a telephone pole

on my way into the City of Leaves

but upon my moment of death

my life simply continued

And now you sit here

with these words that do not exist

And yet all seasons simultaneously greet you

Leaves fall into your lap

while wild tulips emerge

from the soil of living

The visitors have arrived at your garden

They take pictures

I have felt this before

My body has produced waste

I have asked the river

where it is going

The visitors note that the river

does not photograph well

The atoms cease to move once captured

The park ranger winks at me

before describing “the light of my spirit”

They comment on the light

and its dutiful treatment of things

I owe a handstand to the weeds

and a somersault to the subtle valley

And if I’m dead then why am I

still paying for things

This is a public park

and my wallet is making it

hard to walk

I throw my wallet into the river and forget

And if I had not died

would we have met?

When I arrived in the City of Leaves

they were not surprised at my arrival

They pointed to the trail

and told me to enjoy the day

And I did enjoy the day

but enjoyment always rubs against

the worry that we’ve purchased from the living

The trail was wet from the morning’s rain

with puddles slowly evaporating

I laid down next to a puddle

and I challenged it to a race upward

Last to the sky is a rotten egg, I said

and we began

and every part of me is still lying there

in anticipation of ascension

BTW, the puddle always wins

always returns but never remembers

to call me a rotten egg

When the visitors ask what I’m doing

I remind them that this is public land

and I’m not breaking any laws

They take my photograph (sometimes with puddle

somethings without) and walk on

The daytime relaxes

I move a few decimals

I mouth voila to the sky

I relieve beauty’s burden

I should not have waited this long

to compose my will

There is nothing left of me

And the only specialist who accepts

my insurance is a lepidopterist

But what do I know?

I know that if you crawled inside of me

you would find a forest cleaved

by a slow river

I know that chrysalis is the most

stressful time of year

I know you will be here soon

Daniel Bailey is the author of several books of poetry. He lives and teaches in Athens, Georgia, where he continues to revise his bio.