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.