The oak in my backyard is dying,
a century of promises in her branches,
secrets in her roots.

She tells me she dreams nightly now
of letting go, relaxing into the fullness 
of a life well lived, her crown toppling 
as laugh lines and scars 
soften for resurrection 
and she free falls 
to the waiting earth
like a prayer--

her song rising into stardust
as she collapses
into the arms of her mother
for the first time.