Some squirrels have burrowed in to get the seeds
from rotting pumpkins buried in the mass
of carrot peels, and onion skins, and leaves,
and countless mower-bags of summer’s grass.
Compressed within a frame of chicken wire,
a heap of rotting vegetable decay
is simmering in metamorphic fire
and decomposing further every day.
Inside, the worms of god’s creative spark
fulfill the great creator’s purpose too:
consuming waste and defecating dark
and fertile soil, unlike me and you.
The best that we can do is pile the shit
and in the spring make ready use of it.