welcome me home, Bird,
to where the worms eclipse
the bones of earlier,
your carmine-ugly hills that
curl hedgehog-closed before my
slow finger,
my Return
frozen in the callus
of a solitary cap.
Belonging
is the clasp
of a powd’rous knuckle.
in the Green,
thought surrounds me,
as wagons circling before dark,
and the dim voices of
a spectral chorus
cleanse the valleys of
the sidelong bodies,
singing,
“Welcome Home, Welcome Home.”