1Wind mutters thinly on the sagging wire
2binding the graveyard from the gouged dirt road,
3bends thick-bristled Russian thistle,
4sifts listless dust
5into cracks in hard grey ground.
6Empty prairie slides away
7on all sides, rushes toward a wide
8expressionless horizon, joined
9to a vast blank sky.
10 Lots near the road are the most expensive
11 where heavy tombstones lurch a fraction
12 tipped by splitting soil.
13 Farther, a row of nameless heaps
14 names weatherworn from tumbled sticks
15 remember now the six thin children
16 of a thin, shiftless home.
17Hawk, wind-scouring, cuts
18a pointed shadow in the drab scant grass.