burn me
and plant a tree over my ashes,
carbon fuel, the old carcass of an older body
maybe.
How many roots will my fingers be?
Might I finally be tall?
The minutes slow again
as days were when I ran through
the garden and pulled fruit from drooped
branches to eat with my cousins.
The world will blur into distant noise, and I will stretch
into my sleep.
Melcontents 