No Dead End

A Poem

Straw sucked 'til left only a drop of translucent yellow,
spent and dry her leaves hang.
The glorious green boa; the siphon sups
higher
and higher into her crown,
anointed by the chrism of trunk and branch;
outstretched, submitting and proud.
Dancing Ring a Ring o' Roses,
life, death and her.
Now to be eaten up by the spoon that fed her,
all brown and hungry and full.
A frenzy of filaments,
unfurling, reaching, slurping
down,
down the onward path.
No dead end,
just the whirl and spin
of fragments combining.
Baked into new forms
but becoming,
always becoming.