Transcendence

 

always begins

when we aren’t

paying attention.

 

First freeze sucks

shades of celadon,

emerald, loden

from spent foliage.

 

Chlorophyll sinks

into branches, trunk

and roots: a forced

transcendence.

 

Pigments once hidden:

amaranth, mauve,

topaz, amber, coral,

cinnabar, sienna, bay…

 

releasing, floating on

unseen wings, gently

coming to rest,

raked into a heap:

 

a soft coffin.

 

I will surrender

smiling, falling

backward, dazzling

death, buried alive.

 

By the time my body

becomes alabaster,

dove, ebony,

silver ashes—

 

I am already gone.

– Mary E. Kocher

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