A Certain Thing

You will die.
Leaves do not remember the branch
once they choose to walk by themselves.
The sun comes back, whole
but in a different form, at every breaking.
The insatiable mouth of the earth
will find you, eventually.
Your tears will gather
rain with no season
filling what cannot be emptied.
You will stumble.
More than once.
Life will take hold of you
like roots in contest to play a part. You will wear the weight
of steps not first taken by you.
You will die
sooner or later.
This is a certain thing.