Back Pocket Book Entry 13

The squirrels don’t know any dirges

                And they are not quiet with their displeasure of these.

They don’t make a difference of cemetery or wedding ceremony.

Birth comes and the child goes.

                Acorns collected-

                Acres covered in grass or concrete

                                make no indent

                                on their collective imagination

Only the now

                                and a certain future

                                                for which they prepare

So, where in this is there room for mourning?

Seeds uneaten become trees or flowers

Seeds uneaten become food for other seeds

And the gravestones

                are only a place

                for momentary repose

On their hazy way

                to expectation.


3 thoughts on “Back Pocket Book Entry 13

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