Greeting

Postal service

The ghosts of tiny animals sing to me
about how their bones surface in chalk rings,
they say we can never understand what we are living
and that anytime now death should be increasing,
they’ve been setting the scene with diseased oak trees.

I think I will let them keep their little graves
with their death and other sweet things
because the postal service has pieces of me
in circulation. For now, I am waiting
to re gather the bolt of string
to make some wooden puppets
with fish bone hair partings
and lips like letters that
say ‘welcome, please note, my face is greeting.’