Leaf and rind sit silentatop the pile of waste
lifeless leftovers lingering
piled together in an organic grave
still sits the mound
quietly surveying the hum of activity
planting, watering, tending, milking, feeding, pruning,
harvesting, dancing, laughing, weeping, hoping
productivity surrounds the pile of refuse
restlessness judges the contemplation of the silent observer
yet in the inner life of that monastic pile
deep in the caverns of trash
the wet sponge of death is wrung out
hyssop and sour wine mixed with goat's milk and honey
beyond knowing and seeing
the pile teems and turns with
societies of decomposition
This civilization of death and decay
brings life
There is magic at work in the rotten stench
There is mystery to behold
in the watchman of the farm
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