burnt offerings

your mind only remembers inside its judgment,
its nay or its yea is a postscript to every thought
but your heart understands all is love regardless
where your feet have traveled upon this earth,
rooted in the soil even as they scurry along
day after day, week after week, years, and lives
you have walked in the forest of autumn times
who ever look forward to your annual return,
should you release these to annual offerings burned
these that bind your heavenward heart to ground
as crumbled leaves songs strange and rhythmic sound
beneath your feet they are willing to be swept along
ready to be buried as remains to earth and sky-song
feeding holy ground, the air, the love, every ocean.