Planting Seeds

In truth, we’re a nomadic people
who stay nowhere long,
need bridges for leaving and arrival
lest we be caught
wrong side of a defining river.

Therefore, in fear
plant our dead convinced of resurrection.
But who has need
to be planted like a seed in the earth
to arise again?

Such an image is spit in the wind,
since it must be clear
death puts an end to the physical.
Hope, as a function, dies with us.
Death is not sleep.