I will bury you in poems,
The words like leaves
Cascading around you,
Drip, drip, drip until
You and the moss
Are indistinguishable.

I will bury you in poems,
The verse sharp like a scalpel 
That will make you bleed the red paint
That coats autumnal leaves, 
Fallen but still pulsing, gasping
With life, trembling like
An ant’s antennae:
Searching for sustenance
And survival.

I recite poetry with a gust of punctuation, 
And in reciting I stir up
The world, send blood-spattered,
Half-dead foliage back to the treetops
Like a million Lazaruses, 
To live again silhouetted by
A fading sun.

The hypothermic forest
Shakes and shakes, and
Then, naked, it falls asleep
And the drowsy world
Snores with the sounds of
Crickets, tinkling snow, 
And the crunch of leaves
Under our swaying feet:

For, having buried you, 
I will reach down into the earth,
Pull you up close to me
Into the warmth of Spring,
Of a wave of sun rippling
Like wind through a lake,
And, blushing, alive, 
We will dance and dance,
My lunar cheek upon your sodden shoulder,
While the stars play their cold, quiet music in our ears.

Written Monday, July 3rd at 7:30 PM