Harvest
Drop him, Lord
De-leash your avatar
remove his belongings: scripture, wallet, emblems,
the fleshy-pink, mole-rat-state of nature cocooning him–shed! shed!
he shrivels, buried in vines
he breathes in detritus and waste he becomes (what we became)
he breathes us; digests, deposits us
to worms, we move
to muddy pockets
to water bodies; we sink, we ferment–
“ah, such legs,” Sun says, spinning us in its glass,
“so finely aged . . . I’ll have more.”
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