A Marker

The dead burrow deep
in the ground
to avoid sun’s prying gaze,
to no avail.

Steady rays
plow through earth
and burn corpses’ backs
at midnight, bake them
at midday.

Turned to dust
by the sun,
the departed
do not not shrink
from darkness,
from the enclosing rain of dirt

but from an inscutable eye
which burns for all time.


2 thoughts on “A Marker

  1. Good, but on the dark side like I used to write. Changed my style for better or worse. Write me about your genealogy, never know when you might make a connection. Have worked on mine for 22 years.

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