Picked thin from all the wait, all the hands that

Got gnarled before they could reach out—

Or, even worse, hurt somebody.

 

And Sydney’s wearing a dress with yellow flowers.

Sydney’s got scabbed knees,

Is four years old, says, “When I die,

I don’t wanna be buried in a casket. I don’t

Want them to put me somewhere

The Earth can’t find me.

 

What’s the point of

A life where all the

Giving doesn’t continue?

 

Where you die and that’s it?”

 

Dirt on her cheek, on her shoes,

In her mouth when it laughs,

Says, Leave it behind! We can use it.

You won’t need it where you’re going.

 

And the bark begins to peel, the stones begin to crumble,

Fruit flies are swallowed whole, the stars lay down to die.

Life like a circle,

Death as a circle.

Bodies decompose and that’s a kindness.

 

Like: Entropy.

Like: You first learned this when you were 11 years old

And then you forgot it—

MATTER CANNOT BE CREATED NOR DESTROYED,

ONLY RECYCLED.

 

Funny how dirt is just dirt.

Like: The plants let us breathe so they can breathe back.

Like: The world spins, begins to

Laugh, says, You know what fertilizer is made out of, don’t you?