On Dying:

On Dying:

The wind falls against my skin
with such reckless abandon
and I think how lucky I am
to be so loved by the Earth
that she combs her fingers through my hair
and presses kisses against my scars,

that she grows grass
beneath the heels of my feet
just to give me a soft place to fall

that she blooms wildflowers
so that I can find the beauty
amidst the concrete.

What a wonderful thing it is
to exist at all.

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