(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