I think I know where to let you rest:
In the care of the mother of lullaby:
my old Umbrella tree
that was chopped down, but came back
As a different tree.
You know, I discovered God there when I was eight;
I’d sit in the emerald sanctuary for hours and sing Amazing Grace,
watching the teeny ants walk in their predetermined paths
up and down the living branches while I sang and dreamed
of nothing in the future or past
but in the present moment, where time seemed to expand and contract,
expand and contract, like a mother, breathing with a child in her lap.
What if, when I spread your ashes there
I don’t say a word,
but let the wind and time and the sky pass by
and come back as night and day.
What if I could never articulate how much I love you,
and how I miss you, and how I give you back to the mystery
that brought us together in the first place.
Trust that all is as it should be
With the Catalpa tree, and you and me.
asingingtree 