pine box below
Cemetery, New Orleans © Jim Korpi
I hope to die during Autumn.
I want fallen leaves to surround me.
The wind blows steady then
with promise of a calm.
The silence of winter
lies a blanket of rest
over earth and the pine box below.
The pine should be unfinished,
filled with knots, imperfections.
Temperate soil,
free from frost,
cluttered with granite,
return me to the land.
