I want to be a Lady of the Sycamore
the Sycamore in winter bare and luminous
white trunk standing straight—
serene among dry brown fields
branches spreading tall against the sky
misshapen into beauteous forms
unshaken against the wind
Let me rest under the sycamore
at the eastern gate of heaven
sun's first rays
greeting my earthly remains
warming the dark dust
beneath its opulent arms
A sycamore white and luminous
offering sustenance to the dead
