Of Death and Rebirth

. . . like twigs we dry up
shed our leaves and lie on the ground
. . but it is not death
it is a cycle
the sacred dance of dying
of letting go,
of moving on,
but not away.
of leaving and of coming back . .

A part of Chicky died this week.
Chicky, our chico tree must
be trimmed of her dead leaves
and tempered of its wild growth . .
Keeper said it is necessary
for Chicky to maintain
her health and beauty. . .


And yet, I mourn
together with my keeper
as Chicky's twigs lie witness
to what Chicky and the rest of us
must go through to live and live fully.
Someday, a part of me
must be trimmed and tempered
much like Chicky
and my keeper will mourn
as she does the
rite of passage
of dying, of rebirth
of birth, of growth . .

Meanwhile, my keeper lits her incense
and its eucalyptus scent
wafts over our gloomy world
as our murmured prayers
assures and consoles us
just like my soft, warm pillows
on cooler nights . . .