INTO THE PERFECT AIR OF OCTOBER

The wish of burning brings me here.
I forego tunnels and greetings
from past loves and the embrace
of the one who may only love me.
I choose to lie in the slow thought
of forest floor where carbon chains cleave
and rains dissolve my elements. I rise
through blackened wicks of trunks
into the green body of spring. As the light
of summer lapses, weather cools, and bird flocks
take on direction, my wish follows:
I burn in the golden flames of trees—
in candle beyond candle—as my last breath
passes into the perfect air of October.