everyone

the world keeps wanting
to bury you.
to find a way
to take you down,
gravity is always
tugging at your coat
under the pull
of a cold moon,
holding you to the ground.
the smallest of microbes
leach on for the ride
and burrow into
the soft pink skin that
keeps you whole.
you can hear the shovels
working at night, digging
holes in the hard earth,
getting ready for
everyone, not just you.