Deathless
The dahlias were once,
they bloomed once,
now they are churning earth,
in a faraway time
making a living by dying.
Dead, the flowers are dead,
yet the dirt is alive with their progeny.
Uncultivated buttercups
are seeding green pastures,
weeds are building trestle bridges.
Fertile bones are mating in a humming mud
Nothing is too faraway,
to be dead for long.
Soon the heart blooms also.
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