Beetle Cleaned Skulls

 
When the beasts
Have sucked the marrow
From our bones
And our skulls are beetle-cleaned,
There will be no one to talk to.

Skeleton particles regenerate
As quail chicks,
But our wicked dreams
And half-baked schemes evaporate
With what we learned
And didn't say.

Our grace drifts
In the ether, to resorb
Into the collective
With any wisdom we were hiding.

Do not call out for us
Or beseech
The arch of the sky;
You might sabotage our journey.