excavate your gravesite by hand
with a pale friend named eve at dawn
in a garden, forest, mountain edge,
without any clothing in sight.
secure oxygen mask, catheter,
and needle for nutrients through your shoulder.
you don’t need a doctor, just a friend or some savior
to monitor your vitals, pale fluids and airway.
chest to knees, buttocks to heels
feet to soil—rooted in the hole,
eve buries you handful of clod by clod.
enjoy the sensation of soil on your teeth,
the thump of lumps of clay and silt against your back,
the freedom of silence, and learn that innocence
is the color of soil, that sterility is better
underground, that you will never feel the sunset
or the crying of a child, that you are alive,
alone, and completely surrounded by god.