In the garden I buried
myself under the mulch
trying to disappear into the worms.
But crabgrass sprouted
from my fingertips
and dandelions
from my knees.
Terrible, wonderful thoughts
of you kept growing,
kept growing in my mind
and I was overrun.
Limbs torn apart at the
seams, my unraveled stitches
just centipede legs crawling
out of my mouth over, and over, and
oh, why are you gone?
I am overgrown with the
destruction that is life.
Why am I here?
And then,
relics of mortality furnished
the sepulcher like worms
inhabited my heart.
