Root Cap

bare with me

a void voids to welcome the eternal; its "life", our death, the reciprocal of what seed is to fire whose flower is the grave a god has spoiled—all these pores are breath made immortal, to keep what is joined by heat separate from "a moment in time filled with emptiness”

the hair of a root

Fire

since to perish is nothing when it is past, when it is present to perish is all
& even a livelihood for time to come, which because of it, endeavors a decay
so that that the nothing to be can become, well, everything

the spark

fill a hole & the eternal will be fulfilled
no matter it’s a grave that embraces a corpse
or what empties a seed of its embryonic root
no matter the past preeminent in utero
no matter, itself, what the hole is used for

if death is, than it is not—without an interest in becoming & yet being an expectation; an essence by virtue of the dead who exist in it & yet an existence by virtue of the living destined to be its essence; a not to be, the expectant being of divinity, for any interest in becoming begins in the dead only if death is an instant of eternity

being a life in death, the eternal is heaped with the instant; bearing emptiness;
a burying that brings, in the hour of maggot & grub—we who have an appetite for love—a forwardness like dirt, the conceptus of those who die when the death
of those who live bequeath & devise