& I am not that far away from dis-
integration. Bluebonnets bloom
on thick stalks above me. I cannot
worship them without hesitation—
the kind my heart strains toward
as they do nourishment, which is hard
to find here in my dismemberment.
I put my skull in a polished bull’s now,
& his fits perfectly outside like a helmet
or death-crown made for me by nothing
& no one. Disappearance sculpts it
from clay, calls me Adam, Black Boar
Femur, Bobcat Hip Bone, Coyote Jaw
Lifted Delicately by Wind. Pockmarked
for months until flawlessly polished
by grit churning deep in my gears’
wisdom teeth, I claim multitudes, yes.
You have heard correctly. & I get
a new name with each resurrection.
Dedicate every carrion kill-cry to me.
Let my empty tomb turn to a nest
of catfish: spring-fed, full, forgiving.