(I've Gotta Buy Some) Tombstones
My visiting friend On stroll throughout my back yard Stumbled on your grave And knocked your spirit Loose, He's no idea who you were Or where you lie. I'm also not certain All the time. The sturdy midnight breezes Saturated with Whistles, windchimes, And my name Now haunt me free. I don't glance over my shoulder often. You head in the direction you're staring down. Your ghost is dead enough to float transparent, But not to quiet. Life continues. It ferries me from work to home To bed And steady toward a patch of earth My own. I used to tamp the dirt As compactly as a prison wall, But now I simply let the shovel fall. The grass is brown, the soil scanty, Leaving me Occasionally hearing Secret music warmly Taunt my hungry ear. - 10/1/25