death through the window

death is waving at me through the window.
it is summer.
the trees are green.
there is a bare, pale tree across the way,
shaking her branches at me in the wind.

like the ghost of a life once lived,
she stands there,
among the living.
no shame or sorrow,
it is just not time for her body to go.

death waves at me through the window,
asking me to surrender.
i have died so many times in this life,
i am tired of being reborn.
perhaps i should be so grateful.

are the trees able to spiritually live again?
are they devout?
do they, in their ways, honor their gods?
should i be so lucky for my freedom of movement,
for my ability to be fluid and to reincarnate, to become something new from my same old body?

death waves at me through the window, and I wonder,
Is she coming for me?
Not for my body, but for my essence, again?
I inhale deeply.
I wave back.

Death stays still.
The green leaves sway in the breeze.