Ashes

I looked outside my window

November sunrise

sharply painting the air

clear and bright.

The wind walks,

doesn’t run through the yard.

It opens and folds itself into the growing forest.

There are more leaves on the ground

than on the trees

and so that fluttering dance is rare

each one is spotlighted in the autumn air

a dried soul dance

riding the faint touch of wind

into eternity

joining the song of the earth

the slow dreaming song of decay

and merging

to melt into the ground

to spin inside the earth

speaking the language of ground

the dreaming of oceans

wrapping around the earth

and one leaf merging into the earth

one leaf

one earth

the same.

It was eighty five years ago today

that Joe Hill died

killed by his brothers

murdered by his country.

His ashes floated

on a slight autumn breeze

through most

every country

in the world

and every state in the union

save one

(Where no man should be found dead, said he)

One man

merging with the good earth

air

and sky of a thousand countries

of a million dreams

one earth

one man

the same

his words moving beyond the ashes of his used up form

growing, now planted

solid and slow

in the endless circle of life

born and reborn

growing

one leaf, endless

one dream, slowly growing always

Joe Hill

planted on the wind

that covers the earth

His eyes looking back from a million fellow travelers.

-Kevin Slick