Take my ticket, in the shape of a falling fruit tree leaf,
light and red and now yours, after all this time.
Take me to the harvested fields, cleared of crow and ear.
Take me as I am, with my empty emblems in a cherrywood box.
Take time to be silent, and in being so become my healer.
Take all that I have loved or shattered, planted or trampled.
Take me to my wedding, that melody in a dead bedroom.
Take me to my grave, where I will subside at last.
Take a photograph and give it to the waters beneath the bridge.
Take down everything the river rocks say--that is my epitaph.
This is the take to keep at last--it is all there is or should be.
For What's Going On Take This Poem.
Top image created by Bing A.I.
Music: J P Jones Prophet In His Prime