Then lay me down deep in the growing stems,
Let the long tender arcs reach over me as the birds
Crosshatch the benign sky going to their roosts,
Let the beetles and the lacewings post their eggs
On the undersides of leaves, and the season's last frost
Fledge the edges of my flesh, ground and weather
Accepting my return to the way of things
In a universe vastly empty of opinion.
