The Cradle

Put me in a silk-lined cradle
with a heavy lid,
to keep out noise and light
and bugs that bite.
Somewhere I can rest my bones
and sleep the length
of my journey home.

Return me to
an earthen womb
when there’s nothing left
but my name in stone.

Lay my under landscaped lawns
and bending trees,
and offered flowers
I’ll never see.

Come to see me, now and then—
if you can find me
among the many
who’ve withered in their
silk lined cradles—
For we are rows and rows
under watchful crows
in this darker nursery
where the settling earth
sings to sleep
the newest of her
swaddled foundlings.