eleven seventy

when I dissolve on the second rung
out from the sun
wave a refrigerator magnet over the debris
and send the conductive sediment
in a manilla envelope
back home to mom
 
tell her i'm sorry, and
make sure to dampen it
so it doesn't combust
upon reentry  
 
regard all of this as a missle, my love
 
pay no attention to terms like billions
even as years, for we are mere tendrils
riding along the edge
inventing and defying time
 
wrap my last words in aluminum foil
and make sure mom gets them
she'll understand, she always does
 
tell her to plant them in the garden out back
the one I dug but never weeded
 
when the worms that move the dirt;
which lets the world breathe, release me
turn the earth, revealing turnip
and taste the tune when toasted