Our sun stays so long in the same position that [visible between
those arms of that oak] I think the world has seized

     though I hear sirens. A husband and wife yell.

We go on.

It has been long since I've stood with your grave, entered the horde
of gnats—passed through physical bother to consider your bones.
Bones so near I hear them jostle with moles' burrowing.

What else happens when an animal knocks a casket       but a bit of
disorientation. The shiver of skin, shine-eyed blinking, huff

of breath.   The turn.   The dig.