autumn color

In September,
the trees teach me again
That the slow undressing of my soul
before resurrection
is a
bedtime ritual.

If I live as a forest does,
clasping hands under the earth,
drinking sun,
making homes for others,
my death is

Everything that is beautiful
reminds us of
the savage inevitable loss

and the trees convince me again
that everything we lose is
worth knowing
worth seeing
worth being

We own nothing,
rooted and reaching.
We become

naked and spacious,
every leaf
a fallen kiss.


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