How A Pagan Dies
When I go with death on my last day of the sun’s turn...
On that day I will lay down my pain on the forest floor,
Never to have it again.
All my sadness will fly away with the wind and become rain on deserts.
My sins will turn to stones and tumble clean in the river.
My blood will be as fire, licking the night bright.
My bones fall to ashes and dust and lime the soil sweet.
My thoughts will become light between the branches of trees.
And my words will lie on my children’s tongues, telling stories.
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