The lie that you are gone

We would have us believe this tree

flowering and bearing sweetest fruit

is the death knell of a seed,

that once entwined with animal fur

found home in fertile soil.

We might see an empire of clouds

reflecting every tincture of light

and decide this transient beauty

is the death chant of a river.

Perhaps we should bow to whispers

that butterflies blown through glories of flowers

are but death knells of caterpillars

we tried to avoid in the mud.

And just as we hear sweet melody, singing

through branches of our minds,

Would we say this song is dying,

even as it is sings?

Does the silent moon decry

the death of a blazing sun?

Always ourselves arriving,

How would we lie and say

that now, you have passed?

Is a rock separate from a blade of grass?

Is it liquid, this thin shield of death,

this transparent divider of glass?

Let me in, sweet sister, to your sweetness

Let me dissolve in the nectar of all you are

Let me absorb you into earthly tone

Let it come, let it be, let it be free.

Not grieving but living again

as each step to death

walks us closer to life.