In These Tiny Mounds

We are the flowers, now particles of fragrant dust,
The stems and stamens and structures in between,
The upright ones he picked along all those
Morning fences and brought to you, oblations
From his silent yearning to present
To you entire the chaste and rooted reality
Of his love. We gave ourselves with gladness,
And we rest now in these tiny mounds
Beneath the needles and blades around your house,
Watchful and anticipating the wraithing
Of your youthful voices yet again.

~ S.K. Orr