By | 15 September 2022

The wind is leaving through
the leavings,
through the cut sprig in your hand
the pressed daffodil seedling
a single feather in bush.
Light a match,
burn them together:
scent is the most bio-degradable
sense; they entangle there
like roots, sugar and weeds in the loam.
They are all a part of you— I go
by they/them— in part— for their/the air’s sake.
you finally stop, gut biome
taking over, a perfect revolution, your rib cage springs
apart: a whole
daffodil, minah bird and rosemary brush
bursting open, new. That will be
your body, more
extra than embalming

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