Burial Rites

Bury me beside an apple tree.  Take everything
you thought you knew and held dear,
your fancies and follies, and put me in the ground.   I need no box. Let the roots grow around and through me. Let the worms
feast upon my essence. The earth will hold everything
false, and all that was true. There is an abundance of each.

In the seasons to come, when
the tree bears fruit, harvest it and make a pie.  You will
taste and swallow my juices
once more.  When the 
memory is served and you
are sated, be sure to feed
the leftovers to the birds. The greatest gift and mercy, is to let me fly.