This body will rise,
When the roots are done with it,
When the beetles lie down.
This body can not die.
A serpent it casts ghosts again and again
But never death.
Bones will clack, fevers
Spread wide; notable memories
Eventually languish and pale,
But this body does not die.
Not ever. Slick with wet and viverrid
It will rise, as many times as need.