When my bones finally shed the weight of life
And schedules burden me no more
Put what’s left of me in a shroud
And bury me among the tall wild trees
That know the ache and joy of centuries.
Plant me among the roots
Of trees that reach the sky
And know the sweep of eagles
And the snags that hold their young.
Plant me among the birds who sing
As if there were no moment except this one
To rejoice in.
Plant me among the trees that know
The echoing slant of light of dusk,
That whistle, and sometimes fall,
At the beckoning wind.
Bury me among the silent leaves
And broken branches,
The rain and winds that pierce the sky.
Bury me where the streaks of the sun
And the fierce winter winds
Slice through the trees
And the cliffs hang in silence
Above the crashing sea
And I have stood
Looking down at eagles swooping by.
Bury me among the deer and raccoons
Who reach and claw
And sometimes beg for the next bite.
Bury me among the seasons
That pass and keep passing
And remind me that my life too,
Is a season,
A season that will not last forever
But in its own way
Will leave its own tiny necessary mark.