Earthbind

A dandelion opens itself to the wind
and sprinkle of first Autumn rain,
bows solemnly so the rush of sun
plays upon its petals, golden fingers
waving to the last monarch
that hovers in the garden, waiting
for the slow grind of seasons to pass,
the supple tease of wind to release seeds -
new plants for next Spring's confinement,
the slow death that binds us to the earth
from birth.