Give Over, Graymalkin

Upon the Third Day Returned to France, at the Old Church on the Hill

51 upOn the third day returned tO france, at the Old church On the hill You had examined already the archway of locked doors, cemetery tributes, careful rows of slate tile rough and cold. Lowered one branch then another of unknown flowering tree to breathe its meaning, passed chestnuts patterning earth with busted knots of thorn. Having not found what you weren’t seeking you returned to sentinels of cedar iridescent with mold, fingered damp trunks that gave no secrets, returned down the path toward the next village. Why not the flattened corpse of a red squirrel caught dead in surprise? Skewed teeth with no bite, tufted ears hearing nothing. Isn’t that the way, the lesson that announces and explains you? By brush of tail turn the body, study an operation of ants through socket and nostril. Still by the tail, peeling 52 remains from unpaved road, send it over the wall to a final bed of fern, feel suddenly at home. ...