Rite of Passage

you ask me
to carry you
to the pyre,
to burn
bury
or leave you
unspurned,
to be devoured
by the elements
that design
both life
and death.

but how do I
perform
the last rites
of a seed,
which
in its falling
to its deathbed,
explodes into life?

when a hush
between seasons
is breached by
a noiseless seed-burst,
holding within
its failed shell,
forests and deserts of yore,
cracked dust still warm
upon a moistened shore,
springs and winters
yet unborn,
and all of life's
stardust confetti?

and so when you ask,
I stand frozen
upon my trembling feet,
eyes welling up
in disbelief,
for I know
all I can do
is hold this
unfathomable space,
where you and I
are but motifs
on a shimmering shroud,
walking together
in every step
of this rite of passage.