The Doubt of My Debris

Debris and subsonics,
Rot, fungi and dreg,
Dirges, doubts and decayings,
Needs knelt far down,
Below,
By the bank,
Of the river bed,
Left strung to a tree branch,
Slit,
And slowly,
Spill,
From head to toe,
Returning back down,
And giving back,
To the water and to the ground,
Give me back the dirt and sticks,
Give me back the mud and stones,
Give me back the songs of the birds in the sky.