all good things

I go out
with spade and tine
to attack the
earth
and as I dig in
and give it a twist
i say under my breath
all good things...

the deep rooted
dandelions
are defiant:
how will i say
what good things are
good things

and the elm
across the street
catching at the last sun
with its lower limbs
bent in a curve
the
neck of a young doe
going down in the dusk
to water
why is she
so beautiful
and finicky?

the elm
with her finger to her lips
the intermittent shush
of the evening air
and the earth
i have ripped open
pulls on my feet
and up my knees
till i come down to lie a moment
in the dampening grass

feel the gentle hands
of the beetles and crawling things
inquiring, polite but thorough,
whether i am dead

there's nothing at all
i think
sentimental or consoling about that
as i jump up
and give myself a shake.