Of All the Deaths Which We Endure
Brandon Cook
Of all the great deaths we endure, chopped down as we are like autumn flowers,
The death of death itself remains untouched by any—
The hardest meadow to pass through
The devourer devoured
The mouse that eats the wildflower
Capturing the hawk—
Such is the death of scarcity
Stark as any blood-letting
As the circle is interrupted
The hardest thing we do is say yes, with open arms, and let the morning take us
Letting all our bones be held
In the bright pink morning,
With nothing left to cover us