Where I’ll Sleep

I want to be buried surrounded by the fields of my youth

next to other kindred souls

who decided to lie in similar peace

on that grassy knoll, sheltered by a giant oak

it’s limbs spread wide to shield us,

it’s roots embracing our boxed homes

cradling us in our sleep,

apart from the hub-bub of life,

too far away for casual visitors with plastic flowers

our serenity only slightly disturbed

by the occasional car rushing by

the sound of tires rolling fast

metal barreling through thick air

rising from summer heat

when corn silk and yellow seedlings trees and grass

all join in the dance of life

thrusting higher and higher toward the sun

the same as my neighbors when they produced seed

multiplied, then passed on

leaving tiny bits of themselves behind

to prove there’s life

after.

In the stillness of winter’s coldest clear night

I’ll rise from within the Earth

to glide on moon’s rays

the wind my flesh,

the air my breath,

the stars my sight.

The oak tree above

my haven …

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