Under a juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining
We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each other, 
Under a tree in the cool of day, with the blessing of sand, 
Forgetting themselves and each other, united 
In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye
Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity 
Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.

Out in the woods follow the stream that falls from the lake
Down to the marsh surrounded by hills where turtles
Sun on dry stalks of last season's tall grass
Beside the bleached white bones of a dozen cows
Claimed by mud while bellowing weakening wasting
Providing fox ravens beetles maggots a fine feast
And young boys swords from ribs and femurs as clubs