Golden Rain Tree Grave
the sky
is impenetrably dark.
rain lashes bitterly
at your back.
your cheeks
are stained with tears
but every lonely ghost
you pass
on the trail to damnation
assumes
it is just rain.
maybe they never learned that nothing
is ever solely what it seems.
no thunder warns you
of the lightning,
the soul-wrenching,
tree-rending
twin forks of lightning.
neither you
nor the tree
will ever be the same.
the world
pours you forth
like a libation;
your blood sings to be spilt,
and the rock obliges,
and the rainwater
is an ablution,
rendered holy
by your sacrifice.
your body begs to be buried,
and it is not long before the tree
blankets you in fallen leaves.
your dying wish was for
the light of other days
to touch your skin like a lover; and
Winter could not caress you more softly
if she tried.
your unseeing eyes lament
that they squandered their days
in the sun, your hands
have fallen still,
your voice
is forever silenced;
but the tree
is as good of a guardian
as anyone could wish for;
she shelters you
in death;
and has never since
flowered.