from Archaeology

12.    

First the hands    then the heart
into the narrow twist 
I am committed:
no way out but through
to the end
where I meet my choice   


another entrance        
steeped in light


Toward the brilliance
I take the breath of millennia with me
I inhale and exhale, exchanging 
the spirit of my time for theirs
I too will leave air and little else—
a bead, a glyph, perhaps some tools—
but mostly an atmosphere
where those after me breathe easy

or hard 

	      depending on dust    


					drift 


the fineness of my hair
the length of my narrow hour