when my stature falls from the grander of this Earth,

when my stature falls from the grander of this Earth,

i pray the willow trees not weep for me:

i pray the lilacs bloom swiftly from the soil warmed

by the intrepid sun and do not delay the simple violet buds

from protruding the summer sky in all of its glory.

when and if my feet slip from the dirty ground

i shall watch the faces of the children in the garden

to see their smiles on last time like a face

drawn on a red balloon floating upward over the horizon

where it floats down and nestles itself upon a branch

to give birth to thousands of tiny raindrops which come

and wash the dirt of the children’s sleepy faces:

again my falling body shall nestle in the mud and breathe

its sticky haze on final time—one final sip of sparkling

bubbly winter wine. when my legs break at points

as they crush the grass below i shall give my thanks

to the lushness that cushions my decent: the green

that stains my knees as proof that the soft Earth

does hold me true until that final gaping collapse

where my legs are pricked and poked by stiff blades

erupting from the soil—my blood flow not

from brutal strikes but from gentle doting hedges

who wish nothing more than to return my blood

to the parched earth. when my hands return to the shaking

shivering state in which i was born, my mother will hold them

shrieking, kissing it and raising it to God for one final

pulse from my everstill heart, one final jolt from my lungs

so i may repent my sins—so i may be a darling martyr for her

to hang from the oak tree in her front yard; to be the false idol

she lay her sweet unmoving eyes upon; so she may bathe me

one last time before i am covered in pale moist earth.

when my lips kiss the dreadful concrete where i know i’ll lay still

my father will know his name is dead—know that any platform

on which he and i would become a singular duality

shakes so hard when my bones rattle on the ground.

if and when i see my own body floating up and out

from the Earth i will kiss it on its tired forehead, giving it

subtlety as its parting gift—a way for the complex thinkings

of that last fathom: what i pray my mouth exhales

when i take that last scrumptious breath.