I squared off an area with
old birch logs, dug up moss
down to sand and rocks,
added juiced carrot
pulp and onion tops, and
covered them with fallen
yellow leaves and the scraggly
bodies of weeds we pulled
earlier in the summer.
It seems important, now,
to do this, in the second
half of my life, when everything
needs to be made into something
else, including me, including
the old journal pages that
I will tear up because they,
too, are brown matter that
will be lost for gain.
