its small, life-bearing and insensible
losses to light, the least,
though beautiful in its decay,
the deer by the creek
with the shining beetles
crawling through its innards,
the desperate pollens
in glorious shapes and armor
in the swells of a visible breeze,
night’s fungus and foxfire
grown on the collapse of plants
shines as if to welcome the humble rising
the luminous falling
of the world.
Here the foundation,
rare elements, robust nitrogen,
the least, all bright,
all the way down
to the wayward human body
itself falling through time lightly,
the spinal fluid
made of shining crystals.
Who would have guessed
everything as it disappears,
burning with new life,
the dead at last,
all, finally, enlightened.