I found myself at shovel’s depth,
sweet loam above
and more below
than I could imagine;
first my knees, then my hands —
I’d never felt such welcome;
my face, my breath —
I no longer cared to stand,
let my limbs sink in
as a favorite story might begin;
and when I reached the end,
I awoke to death,
and pulled the shovel out again.
.
[ 1757 ]
Categories: Sour Honey
William Michaelian 