Still

I wanted only to be still,

to become a rustle

for a moment

of papery fall leaves sighing past one another

on their way to the funeral pyre in the front lawn,

sweetly fragrant with the scent of death and inevitable decline,

fearless in their annihilation,

incandescent countenances turning joyfully to ash,

divorced in moments from the tyranny of singularity,

emancipated from reason,

an ecstatic transmutation into perfectly symmetrical dissonance

careening free from form reveling in unresolved ambiguity,

a shadow at midnight.