Under-sky sleeping, bone keeping

In the holy spot

with the sitting rock

there is oak. Out

where humans live

there is shagbark hickory

and maple.

Ants climb the rock.

August, and young birds

are quiet when the parents

celebrate the flowering

weeds. Next come

the seeds of autumn.

I am here to name it

and know it and help it

to grow. True, 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.

There I find the sumacs

fruiting and the male sex organs

of the Queen Anne's lace.

Company of flies, so

intelligent. Two abandoned

farmer's fields are wide as

Alaska. Is there one

who could name

every flower here?