Death is one path, and
Life is all other paths
oh home
which path leads to you?

I would be perfectly home in an ancient folk tale
the baked and folded brown skin will reassure you,
every good thing was only ever got by waiting, aching
and that longing turned its gaze to the great Mountain MaMas,
she embraces all of us... even her ghost remembers our ghosts
It's in the rocks and soil.
there is no loss when you are alone
with the trees

the world and its gates I have worshiped

ghosts can breathe too, 
small mouths make them gasp for air
only the ones meant for heaven
can withstand being a ghost and not despair
and they are already in heaven

you are alive.
look on the low beings of this world and bring your palms together
you will be them again
they will be you