Sumacs Poems

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.