Meet Me in the Woods

* real life.

i am going to die.

i will lie in a bed of moss
under a fresh grey sky and fall asleep.

flowers will grow around my
stiff corpse, each petal and leaf
a whisper of my final breath
that which escaped my lips so
desperately in the cold of the forest.

my eyes will stare blank as birds
use my hair for nests and fly into the trees
above my grave.

my chest will begin to bloat and vultures
will seek the deep, blood red meat
of my heart and lungs.

coyotes and wolves and foxes
will rip into me and
feed my extremities to their young.

trees will bear their roots around my legs.
my skin will become
pale and blue, and fall off
into the soil beneath me.

moonlight will bleach my bones as the
barred owl sings me to sleep.

floods will wash pieces of my
skull and fingers into the river.

and i will be in the river rock,
in the vulture and fox,
the coyote and wolf,
the young songbird reared in my hair.

society will forget my name;
they needn't find me.

i have come home.