In the Garden

In the dream, you feel your body fall apart into muck and clay.
It goes down to the beetles and the worms and the black sounds.
The roots, all hunger and patience, plunge holes in your skin,
And suddenly you notice that you feel also gratitude.

In the dream, your mind begins to lose its tether.
Your bones gape into the shapelessness which the roots transform
Into new bodies; nausea sets in, and you are unsure of its cause:
The mind's departure from reasonable thought, or the body's dissolving.

In the dream, rain seeps down to what is left of you through the soil.
It is summer, and warm, and the worms continue their sure wounding.