Extract from Elegies

My skull carries all the dreams of all those bones.
The country I’m in is the country of their birth.
Its hills roll like they rolled their shoulders.
Its valley can be traced down any one of their backs.
I count the bones of thirty-two lost souls, no, thirty-three,
And wear their hair on my head and on my back.
The four seasons of this land roll into one season
Of no sun and no moon to speak of.
Only what light wakes before my eyes slingshot open
Light that looks the same with my eyes closed.
Only a dream of snow I made into snow angels,
And leaves I buried myself in, and summers
When I was lazy as pollen,
When a day slept after lunch for the rest of the afternoon.