the spade's sharpened edge
cuts earthworms into twos and threes...
she searches for blood, finds none.....
a richly acrid loam, ripe with oak and ashes,
sings a scent that scourges
and delights the nose with its pungent layers...
smoke, near-liquid remains of what was once frozen,
crumbled unidentifiables,
rot.... ready to feed new life, to give it color and shape....
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