November Wind Chills

Bronze Buddha,

You are the fence post before me,

a wooden figurine of many doorknobs

and passage ways.

Fill my skinny belly with the window

to your gardens,

the end to my life awaits.

I have been tested,

the hammers drove nails deep into me,

as the leaves blew across my luminous mind.

Each syllable befallen me,

each thought sunk within me,

I yearn to find peace.

Death,

follow me.

I stand at the balcony,

staring into a mirror at myself,

Below me I feel an incompleteness,

the surface covered by grass seed and rock.

I have been weathered,

and I am empty,

a light fixture without a bulb,

hence, bid me farewell,

       I am a grass seed.