under faded skies and molting sycamore trees,
the ground of glowing crowns
invites me to lie down and bend
my curled edge into the dust–
but oh, how far!
how far
to fall!
and fly no more upon October’s knitted brow–
to kiss the light I’ve held within
goodbye, farewell–
I don’t know how–
but when the dying ember fades
and darkened winds
bursts upon my
weathered skin,
at last I give
myself away.
and lying down, I find
the death I feared has died instead
for soon will seedlings grow
upon the bodies left behind.