Breathe the small children.
Rake them into piles
beneath Autumn's trees.
leap and crawl through
their smoky veins with
the bugs and worms.
They burn fragrantly,
alight the dusk,
flake into embers,
all this stupid beauty
broken in a heap.
Spring will shed something
new beneath the spot
where they laughed
with sugary gasps,
bled from scabbed knees
life into the earth,
vaporized the sky
leaving Zen beneath
the snows that will come.
Nothing
can tear them from
now. |