till my aching flesh
break my hardened bones
plough my thirsting roots
prune my reaching arms
‘til all that once
I called my self
falls to the ground, gathered in a heap
—to fuel some future fire;
withers away, composting into the earth
—released to fertilize;
dries up, evaporating into clouds
—set free to fly;
leaks out, running off into ground waters
—flowing to the ocean;
rearrange me ‘til the changes
smudge the image,
blur the reflection,
futilize differentiation
between past and present,
here and there,
this and that,
life and death.