years from now, they will
find my bones in
the back fields
where we let the dog run
off leash, where the weeping
willow rests its long wrists on
the red path, & the
thistle shares a bed
with the gentians, & the
waterless yards
hold up the fences in
an aerial patch of sun-
burnt green, & the hills
will house
a small acre that feels
both hidden & so
visible, & I will sleep
in this familiar crest
of feeling both tucked
away inside myself
& very much apart of
the earth & the spinning
sound of those who build
upon it.
CarnivalDark 