Untitled VI

Bury my heart  
in the crook of the old tree:
let it beat new life where  
there is none.  
 
Place my eyes  
in the palm of your hands
so that my spirit will clearly see you.
 
Thread my ears with twine
wrapped round your neck,
that I might hear your secret  
whispers of truest love.  
 
Cast my smile in resin,
preserving it for a melancholy day.
 
Scatter my hair to the four
corners, so the crows may build
magnificent nests.  
 
In your time of sorrow,
take me apart with systematic love—
 
Anchor yourself to my atrophy.