I clipped my nails

outside on the patio

as was my practice

where flagstone would catch them

and dust to dust

would return to the earth

some of my molecules

preceding the larger wholeness of me

 

I brushed my jeans

checked my shoes

and saw them

moving

ants in a line

carrying my nail

precious gift from the sky god

tusk-like crescent to their tiny frames

ants lifting

succeeding

moving

coordinated

toward a crack in the flagstone

soon to descend into

Ant-land

my fingernail

cast away

to be revered

treasured raw material

to be made use of

for what I leave behind

to be made use of

is all that I can ask