~ after Remedios Varo, “Embroidering the Earth’s Mantle,” 1961 (oil on masonite)

In a circle we sew
what will be the earth’s
last sleeping garment.

How precious each thread,
plucked from our own heads.
A flock of goats clambers

up the rocky hillsides.
Vultures watch from crumbling
towers. Cypress and rosemary

among the rocks, their woody
scent like something burning
in a thurible. Up there,

the leathered coffins of
our dead— shrouded in air,
still sitting in counsel.

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