Undersky Sleeping, Bonekeeping

In the holy spot with the sitting rock, an oak. Out back shagbark hickory and maple. Ants climb the rock. August, birds celebrate flowering weeds, the seeds of autumn to come. I am here to name it and know it and help it to grow. These mountains are my grave. A good grave to go to. The crows have been in conference, again. A jay, blue, pokes a hole through reality. I find sumacs fruiting and the male sex organs of the Queen Anne’s lace. Juncos glean the lawn, an occasional nuthatch in the butternut. I hear a pileated woodpecker jackhammering and my neighbor’s skill saw chirring. Ants crawl on connecting interlacing instructions.