Thursday, December 6, 2007

After Death

Liz Southwood

//after death

Just Guessing
Where goes the drifting leaf
fluttering from its tree
to spend its afterlife?
It melds into the earth,

and so, of course, do we.
Does consciousness of the
cool summer shade it made
or its shhhshhhshhhs on
windy days go away
to some shady green
celestial glade with a
silvery, sunlit brook and
hymning birds and bees?
Or does its spirit stay,
familiar cadences,
birdsongs giving calming
heartbeat peace? Not raked, the
leaf naturally nestles
with its peers, rests in its
native place, enveloped
by the spirit it grew
when it lived on its tree.
Disintegrating first,
it recombines into
everything, flowers too.
We’re all composed anew.

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