Snapped String, Broken Tree

Never gainsay death
you who visibly die
who shrink from the wind
or the shadow of a wing
and know in the beat of the heart
the shape of things to come
yourself the bare oak
when the north wind whistles
yourself the snapped string
when the music stops.
Stay yourself with icicles
lie down in the new grave
and shroud yourself with rose leaves
or warm yourself with an ignis ossium
to dance the rites of spring
you are still the bare oak
motionless in snow
still the snapped string
when the music stops.
And who would ever wish
to gainsay goodfellow death
whose embrace is Judas blossom
whose eye is apple blossom
whose footfall is the sure silence
between tick and tock
who would wish to gainsay
night after day
end after beginning?
The shadow of the oak
becomes a map in the mind
and moves in the mind
on the winds of the mind
and every movement of it
becomes a new word
and every word becomes a new leaf
yourself the bare oak
listening to spring
yourself the tuned string
touched to sing.