The Wood Grouse

I can’t dive
into the gold of flowers
without hearing
the petals
hit the earth.

It’s autumn, 
and I’m learning to process
the radial trees
in their decay,
the final egg
of the northern forest
with all its blue-green energy
pouring out of it. 

We can collect the light
in our minds like sieves.
Who knows what diamonds
will be found there?
Snail shells? Remnant shards?
The potter’s art?

If this is death
relaxing forms
so they can breathe,
then count my body happy.

The air nearly glitters
on its way to and from
my heart.