Surrendering Into I Am

The crows with their black wings gleaming
hidden rainbows. Their sharp beaks 
polished to a sheen 
pull at the flesh
I offer them freely. 
"Strip me," I say.
They pick and pick and pick
tearing each earthly chunk filled
with rockers on a porch, nested sleepers
creating a rhythm of breath that runs 
through life, dead dreams, broken doors,
bleeding heads. Cleaning the skeleton 
until there is nothing left 
but splintered bones
bleached white and dry
glowing in the moonlight
like a pile of magic;
waiting for breath of some 
unknown source to course
back in and fill their hollow centers
with rich, juicy marrow.
Waiting for the cycle to begin
again.
I exhale and give it 
all away, knowing,
this is the pulse of life.
I am all. I am nothing. I am.

~Suzette Winona Summers