Reincarnation

There is scarcely enough in this windswept world:
the sycamore seeds will fall wailing to the earth
and dying leaves will gather in the farthest corner.
One solitary pair of eyes will gaze searchingly
across once grazed fields, glazed by passing time.

The warmth that lingers on your back
is the warmth of a setting sun, sunk below a faded horizon.

There is no more to be done, but close the door and wait,
wait while the wind whistles and rattles and prattles
on and on, “ The end of all things is nigh!”
Surely all things must embrace their fate, this night,
with fear and trembling, lying low in leaden ground,
folded in around their own embarrassingly organic forms.
It is akin to dying, this kind of waiting, hiding
hidden within the fallen remains of life
that once sucked the sap from crumbling earth
but now bowed down, barely expectant of mystery
about to begin again.