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They sleep in the hill,
hunched in the too-small grave,
withered flowers, corn, stone blades
a jawbone like a harp, a tumulus of a skull

sons of the angels tasked to watch
they brought black powder and iron,
brought walls and brick,

here is the sky, a bowl of bone
pierced to let the light through
here are bones in the mountains,

here is the beanstalk, rope ladder
to a city of lapis and stone
here is the hen, and the devil's grandmother
the stone in the well, the toad in the fountain
here is the secret kingdom below the stones,
the hollow hill, the beehive grave
the staircase without end

here is the world we inherit with their death,
the silent monuments, the mountain tops, the silent oracles
the city is fallen and become a habitation of owls

here is the road at night, and the light in the distance,
strange music, black birds against the sun