Turning of Life

I wake early

By the garden gate,

Dew on cabbage leaves,

The hour still waits.

Sparrows quarrel

In the pear tree,

Their noise small,

But sharp and free.

The soil smells sweet

With last night’s rain,

Warm bread air

From the windowpane.

Behind the shed

A path bends thin,

Grass worn flat

By passing skin.

Bees thicken

The clover ground,

Their bodies dark

With yellow sound.

A fox slips

Through fence and shade,

Red like rust

On a *****

Past the beds

Where lettuce stands,

I leave the order

Of planted hands.

Leaves begin

Where soil turns dark

The air cools down

The light grows stark

Past fence and stone,

The hill ascends,

A cross alone

Where candle ends.

Wax meets wood,

The flame gives way,

As offerings should,

Then bends to gray.

Beyond that sign,

The path grows thin,

The pines entwne,

The dark draws in.

Between the roots

A body lies

Fur dulled down

Clouded eyes

The jaw is open

The flank torn through

What fed the fox

Feeds others too

Ants stitch paths

Across the skin

Patient mouths

Working in

Crows convene

In sober black

They take their due

And give none back

Rain has washed

The blood to brown

The earth accepts

What once lay down

White bones remain,

Then slowly fade,

To seed and rain

And cool green shade.

What falls must feed

What dares to rise,

In quiet creed

The forest tries.

No grief is loud,

No mercy sworn,

The earth, unbowed,

Keeps being born.

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