Death

moving through the crowd
the air fetid and stinking
rancid in the heat
–
underground-
pushing in
before the close

out of the shadows
and into the light of day
burning in the sun
–
august sun-
wreaths of flowers
wilting by the roadside

open to the cold
exposed and vulnerable
naked and alone
–
new life-
tempted
by the light

head back and arms wide
inviting the elements
to do what they will
–
an umbrella-
defenseless in
the light of day

my bed calls to me
impossible to ignore
but yet I still try
–
waxing moon-
gliding down
on silent wings

standing by the sink
staring at my soapy hands
my momentum gone
–
blinders on-
running headlong
towards a dead end

a mournful windsong
whispering past long dead oaks-
the forest’s lament
–
graveside rain-
one last leaf
taken by the wind

ghosts walk the streets of
an abandoned mining town
out of the shadows
–
desert shade-
sand dancing
across the road

continuity-
ancient traditions upheld
for generations
–
lichens on stone-
the huron pine
adds another ring

fields of wildflowers
fastidiously tended
by hard working bees
–
summer afternoon-
nectar turning
to honey