Bury me not
In a hard pine box, but plant my
dust with a great Oak seed, so
I can bind and intertwine until I
burst into the world as a fountain of leaves.
My toes stretching wide, wrapping
'round stones and old bones in the soil beneath.
No gale will break my stance, instead
long arms will branch out to hold the blows, waving
warmly back at scarves, lapels, and tasseled hats.
I'll bathe in those low dark clouds, keeping
every drop close to my bough
not allowing them fall to guise tears of
joy and pain on the rosy cheeks
of lovers and lonely below.
As in life I'll a hoard a thousand
moments to feed my soul, then
scatter them softly one by one.
Letting go, my scraggled black head
will scribble madly against the cold bright sky
till I can gather and grow a thousand more.
