what does a flower’s beauty feast upon?
secrets held by the soil of home
are usually hidden
from the light of my science

but when digging holes
I come to know
that my shelter is wood
and wood, the forest-bone
and tree, the root-blossom
and root, the creeping substance
of the down-and-out
whose quiet chorus calls in frenzied love
for the sagging flesh I lay here today