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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