How to die

How tall must
a kind man be?
I have given to the flesh
of a baboon-
soft, of air and
slow expulsion.
How tight!
How tragic a mistake
this joining is.
In front of doors, they stand,
heavy with wanting dew.
A look, through low beams
and half moons.
How much reliance
on peripheral vision,
as if it were medicine?
We all are spies,
recommended by illness.
I could teach you nothing
but how to die.