SHEEP SKULL HOLLOW

The resonance of bone –
my knuckle rapping
on the brain pan.
Loose earth blows free
as if blood was
at some point of decay
pulverised. The wine of life
was drawn and all
had become dust.

I set the skull
on a post to watch
along the fence line.
Maybe like me another
will force ferns
and brambles through
this no access zone
only to find that
where we are now
is where we have been
before and is where
in time we shall be again.