Give and Take

"Come forth" he says, and coughs, and a million wet leaves leap out of the lawn.  Around the oak and up, coming home to tips of branches, and green into place there with soft pops, whispering a second spring.   I say, someone has to die now, don't they, with dust in my throat.    Entropy's a bitch, he says, but I can tell for once his mind is elsewhere.