Why don’t you see them? It’s not hard
They’re not even pale like in stories
I’m paler than them
They’re always too many to count
And they’ll always be part of here
I’d help if I could
They’re very bright, they hurt my eyes
They move through house and my garden
And no one sees them
I hear if you bury a bone
Maybe a dead fish or the like
Plants will grow well above
And now I know why my garden
Grows and blooms like a small cool fire
Why it flourishes
It is bright and strong and alive
And my garden smells like death