Black oak stands stark in
the gray dawn after
a night of rain.
Soggy leaves, losing
their grip in
the buffeting wind, cover
the ground beneath
the tree like
a brown blanket.
Do you, too, cling this way when the wind blows?
Do you, too, tumble and twist against your life, weakening
the only tie you have ever known?
And when you release at last,
when you float and fall into that leafy mat,
is it the grief of loss you feel?
Or will you find your way content into the dark dirt,
that grand microbial feast, nurturing with
your precious body
the deep mother root?