~ after Remedios Varo, “Embroidering the Earth’s Mantle,” 1961 (oil on masonite)
In a circle we sew
what will be the earth’s
last sleeping garment.
How precious each thread,
plucked from our own heads.
A flock of goats clambers
up the rocky hillsides.
Vultures watch from crumbling
towers. Cypress and rosemary
among the rocks, their woody
scent like something burning
in a thurible. Up there,
the leathered coffins of
our dead— shrouded in air,
still sitting in counsel.