bury me beneath the willow tree

bury me beneath the willow tree

the spot’s picked out

the digging is free

and for all the things that i used to be

i set this fire in my mind to make it free

bury me beneath the willow tree

when I’m dead and no longer the things

i used to be

just a withered

warm sheet

growing cool

but there is no willow here

i remember the fireflies

that used to roam in the dark of the night

behind the house where we grew up

by the blackberries

I would catch them in a jar

and then I had a canister of light

that I could keep by my bed for the night

I imagine that it wasn’t as sublime

for the bugs

I don’t think they were hoping for a boy to watch sleeping

all safe and sound

there in his bed

but then again

i have no idea what goes on in a fireflies head

there are no willows here

there was also the sound

of the train running down

from the mountain on the wind

across town

and the sound that it made

that sweet clicking away

like the keys on some typewriter in the sky

i imagine it carrying dreams

dreams for the future

to disperse

as it passed all the spots where

we adventured all day

on the tracks

we walked along to the pond

or the river

to catch rainbows from the water

or throw rocks

for the passing of time

we were serial killers of

hours

stabbing each one with a finishing blow

because a fresh set would spring up tomorrow

there are no willows here

if i were a castaway on a deserted

island

and it was only you with me

i'd starve so you could stay

as supple

as

you

are today

for it would be a crime

for those breasts

to ever change

and you know

i could be a serial killer

for hours with you

if I could go back in time

for the days you were mine

i would hold on

with all I am worth

you were a death-grip

worth engaging

and a firefly to each of my evenings

the songs that you hummed like the train tracks

sweet moan click-clack

sweet moan click-clack

clickity clack

clickity clack

listen….

there are no willows anymore

and I got old…

…now

i know

what it all meant

it meant

this

moment

so please

……,

bury me

beneath the willow

in the backyard

up on the hill

where we made love until the middle of night

lying amongst

a cloud of fireflies

and train track lullabies

the screeching of steel in the night

there is no willow there

except in memories

now there is a strip mall

over the bulldozed green pasture

and the train tracks are a bike-path

that weaves through the city

and a firefly would be quite a sight

if you could spot one in all this bright light

and the wind never breezes here now

just a cold northern wind bearing down

there are no willows

but don’t say it to the man

on the morphine

drip,

drip,

drip,

drop….

clickity-clack

clickity-clack

clickity clack…..