Pine Straw

I made up my mind with pine straw
My first sane thought at age 3
On the way back from Luray Caverns
All the primordial stalactites and stuff
Which only took me in—too much
Underground with time.
Pine straw took me out
It was just a glimpse, at Sunset,
From the back of a station wagon
Under some trees in the median
Fleeting fast but forever signal
In my mind.
Later I would rake it and place
It around the house, or fall flat
On it walking in woods, then, later, with her,
And mix it in her hair. She’d laugh.  I probably
Should like to die on pine straw
Excepting the wild animals tussling for a thigh.
So just, if you would, line my casket with it.
Pine straw takes me out. 

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