The summer rain is plum wine on my tongue
A worm crawls around my fingers like
A ring, as if
This earth can promise itself to me.
I dig clay into my fingernails
Press weeds into my knees like flowers into glass
Your name into my thumb is
The perfect handprint.
They buried you in carved pine
Weak enough for dandelions
To carve into
For pill bugs to hide in uniform pockets.
I knot my knuckles in chickweed
close my eyes
This meadow is made