Thanks to the tilting earth

one season frames another,

snow collects on fallen leaves

until yielding to the crocus.

During rain forest winters

fickle winds cover and lay bare,

build ice frames for thickening water.

When death arrives in the rain forest

does he take beauty,

the memory of ice forming on stream rocks,

to where the living may not follow?

Neither man nor raven can answer.  We rely on faith and

revelations from a dying man’s eyes.