Death Working Backward

there are moments
when caught unawares
our soul is startled
by winged birds
and mottled sky
by sun dance
and moon glow
by the morning cry
of the wild geese
and the mournful lament
of the owl at dusk
and then the heart sees
mysteries unfold
and the torn and threadbare fabric
of our corrupted self
begins to knit together
death
working
backward