a flame as it burns
is only going back to its beginnings

a tree stretching towards the sky
is actually tilting

is really seeking the center of the earth
that is the tree’s return

the fish tires of its flesh as soon as
it is spawned and wants to reveal
its elegant skeleton

the flower wants to be seed
the grass aches for its wheaty demise
what’s thrown towards heaven craves descent

everything wants to return
look
     my fingers begin their early
curling inward
my hair would be the color

of nothing   my eyes the same
dimming from sky to cloud
     my teeth, tired of their white story
seem to remember ancient stones
will go back there
will go back

and bones have their own dream of returning
will fragment split and splinter

sift descend settle
until the final
 —listen—
sigh

by Susan Maeder
Mendocino

 
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