Robert Verdon, #231, not a grave

to pinch the earth

between finger and thumb

bettering Archimedes

a garden in profile —

quartz chips

old bones

zack-like shards

magnetite beads

a squall of miniature ants          scurrying

lime pellets to crush

to scatter on the wet sandy loam

with its charnel scent

a saddled earthworm flexing

blindly

over a soiled nail

seeds that press sun soil

and water

into living patterns

subterranean —

not a grave