The Apple Of Their Eye

…Oh, there are reasons to go into here…

creating life from every death, for soil is alive, you see
that living soil feeds on death, it feasts on death
and brings forth life…

It is the Resurrection writ, inscribed
into the smallest detail of
existence…life giving soil…

“Feed the soil, not the plant!”

The ancient wisdom speaks to us, feed the soil for it’s alive,
cares not a whit for ethics held except the ethic of its pangs,
it hungers for the blood and bones it wants to eat, especially us…

Bone meal, blood, and ash remain, the finer points, the amuse-gueule
betwixt the teeth, all of them sharp
and hungry…

We learn the ancestral grammar and feed the trees with blood and bones
of every creature near and far, take solace in this sacrament
that spices every meal to come…

And comfort rises in this practise.

Four apple trees dance on edges of the grave and burial lands
Amidst the grasses and the hedges, above ground they flower, blossom,
Bare their ruddy fruit so sweet…

While down beneath, and out of sight
Below our hearing or our knowing
Those roots draw near the static graves…

So supple in the dirty night that closes, kisses, holds and grips
just like the roots that tender lick the bones and sigh in sweet relief
And breathe from bones in ever life
Transforming dust to living flesh
To feed our flesh and live again
And then to feed itself on us…

<snip>

And if you listen you can hear the long slow sign of skeletal roots saying

“you are here and I am hungry
for you, for your shape,
you are the apple of my eye”

And dirt clogged chuckle trickles up and filters thru the flowering grass…
Teach simple truths, learn to accept that death draws near to everyone.
Inevitable is that step  upon the grasses growing in
the fields, flowering, fading, falling…

to the faithful hands of roots so hungry, sharp of tooth and eye
to eat your bones and drink your blood, inhale your ashes and your dust
and then at last to resurrect us…

when…then
become
The Apple of Their Eye.