I cut off the air supply by way of their heads
of a few rosemary plants to count and test
if he could know me.
But the heads were many
and the wind was one
and blowing them askew.
So what did they do?
They remarked that he did not,
not an encouraging thought.
So now beneath me the ground swells,
gorged on my own personal spoils
of self-preserving oils.