Falling off

a goodbye would be when I fall off the sky,

into the arms of genteel earth, to embrace

the two tomorrows, of existing no more,

putrefy my furtive flesh, black bones into

the granular sand, returning to the birth,

that watered the roots of the world tree,

of which I came out to be a red raw fruit,

sheathed by the leaves, that shielded it

from sly storms, but every cold seeps in,

to their unaware natures, applying layers

of first frost, ingraining icicles within, and

as this youngling falls off before maturation,

the seeds do not burst, when it splits open

into a chamber of plain platitude of emptiness


Image source

For dVerse Poetics, where the prompt is to write about trees.