Buried, Found Out and Eaten

The ants course down in droves through dirt
by little upside-down networks
which tickle me, a monarch in dirt.

The sound of the commune coming down
to pull each piece of me into millions gently,
piece on piece…

My body, each fingered bead of my rosary
passed hot between their little symmetries
my god, what I am devoured
and life cannot repeat me.

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