The incense has risen. As my body

is hymned down, my behind hums,

shovelled-in earth muzzles the mutter.

The pink ballet of earthworms

wiggle their hips, drag the held nose

of my soul from the farting.

The soprano pitch, moans, baritone,

of my interring, carry on regardless,

disrupt the hibernating. The drillings 

of the disturbed shower up soil:

squirrel, stoat, rabbit, claw the dirt,

open up airways, aerate the earth.

The gassy operatics of passing winds

pfsst through borehole, burrow, sett –

whoosh to collapse of casket, coffin,

gasp at the burglar’s masks of badgers,

the bawdy rummage, snuffle, of rat,

mouse, vole – blast into bed and soil,

whisk cobweb, droppings, beads,

off joined hands. Bugs and grubs rise,

depart the party glass of sockets, sniff

the hissing, squirm on brows: lit eyes

of glow worms wriggle to the leakage,

light its blow hole, ignite the fires of hell.