Song of the invisible corpse- by Gregory Orr

And still I lie here
bruised by rain, gored
by the tiny horns
of sprouting grass

I hum the songs of spiders
drawing, across the blankness
of my eyes, accurate maps
for the spirits quest:
like rome or some oasis
toward which all paths tend

I am the absense
under your feet, the pit
that opens, toothed with dew