September 8th, 1834


Flies have tangled and buried themselves
In whatever hair they can find.  Eyebrow and eyelash.
Ear gristle and nose.  Pine needles rest
Brown amidst the lavender and white of flower.

Only the very old
And very young.

These:

	Olivia,
	Wife of Icabod Dorcas Benton.
		Died, Pittsfield
		May 13th, 1832.

Or John,

	The second son
	Of Samuel and Olive Wright.
		December 30th, 1832.
		April 15th, 1842.

And here 
Is William Alden
The Packard's only son
Gone at ten months.

Once, I walked in a circle about them
In some child politeness taught me
By Aunts in black shawls, in some soul deference
Not to step upon their shadows lest they cry out.

Yet now I turn, stubborn against myself,
In some effort to escape from rage,
Chanting with each heavy foot:
Houm
		Houm Kith Kith Kaela Houm
		Kith Kith Kaela  Houm Kith
		Kaela  huh huh huh huh Houm
		Kith Kith Kaela huh huh huh

		3 Stone  3 Stone

		Houm Kith Kith Kaela
		Modor  Faeder  Sunu
		Faeder  Modor  Sunu

		3 Stone  3 Stone   3

There is nothing left,
Not even memory.

Only this breath
Which does not force itself
But drops downward into tree-root and under-dirt,
Long past the rot and mucus, and rests with them
As they bless themselves back into soil and sand and salt,
Back through tree-root, tree-trunk,
Each particle making its way to leaf and bud
Back toward sunlight, toward gaseous spirit,
Toward sun breath    Sunu   Modor   Faeder    Houm Kith Kith
				Kaela    Houm  Kith  Kith  Kaela  3 Stone
									3 Stone.