I want to be worm food.
Give me a while yet, under the sun,
but then, when it’s time,
lay me down under a gum tree
and let it feed on me.

I want to be worm food.
Let those sightless beasts wriggle
into secret cavities, making me richer,
tastier, more nutritious for the tree,
as its roots delve into my dust.

I want to be worm food.
Part of the cycle, meaningful.
Some part of me will travel up sap,
out to a branch, into a leaf,
and bask in the sun once more,
wordless, blind, but not dead.