Mark the Spot

We only need a little mess
To think of it as randomness,
To bypass it as naturalness.

Bury your precious magic ring,
Your ring of power, your wedding ring.
Drag a few twigs over that thing.

Voila. No one not hunting it,
Starting near where you buried it,
Will see anything in those sticks.

We’re used to a world disheveled.
It normally looks unsettled,
Like none of it’s on the level.

It’s suspicious that we suspect.
We dream patterns we don’t expect.
You’re correct this seems incorrect.