In my yard
flung leavings
the small crushed wrappings
of awareness
indigestible

gentle
I flatten
reshape
into something
mitten-like
into which
I imagine
sliding
life
only mine to offer
one tangled
incontrovertible
memory
at a time

so yes
cough up the stories
of you
I will gather the husks
of your meaning
string the evidence
like felted beads

once
in the consumptive telling
you lived