The Last Suit You'll Ever Wear

 I want our six foot distance, laid below 

to expand and grow toward bottomless holes 

inching over, deep root and soil 

keeping separation, in verticals. 

With the worms that will wriggle, squirm and dance, 

eating earth at the place where caskets plant. 

Welcoming, this place of peace.

Where cicadas sing in the yards of summer 

muting voices by roaring numbers. 

Our best dressed yet: is worn well rested.