Sonnet #26

We speak of death in the bones of a man

But I think of death as a fungal thing

I know my age in my joints in the morning

I feel it in my back, the rot and ruin

The soil of me feels death bloom

Tendril pathways snaking mycorrhizal

Stretch and drink water, read the Bible

In the crevices of bones the creaking swoon

Lie down in the field and look to the cloud

My hair will stretch and fall into the earth

I carry the colony, I am their shroud

They are my body I carry them forth

And when they are hungry they crowd

Into my gaps to transform my rebirth