Burial Poem 11 --36 13' 3.98" N, 86 41' 40.45" W

I've been the stranger
in line at gas stations
and rest stops but
I have never been alone
she's been here all along
While I drive she reads
when she drives I sleep
through the desert
she finds me sitting
reminds me of water
across mountain tops
she stops me to breathe
at night I set the tent
and she lays the bedding
we read till our eyelids
weigh down and the light
burns out
                 now beneath
the Dixie moon
full in humid air
a beacon to the wild
we step with bare feet
onto the cool earth
she leads me to dance
                      till dawn.

Burial Poem 10 --40 39' 45.88" N, 105 11' 8.37" W

At the furthest reaches
     of this jagged mountain-scape
     to the moving sky
across peak
      within gully and gulch
      last winter's snow pack
   still fights
           against
              the elements
      a sun high in the north
      summer winds
      a parade of awe struck
         travelers
      the dark clouds rising
                from cities below
the packs are no longer white
      now with a yellow tint
          of dried bone
      the remains are
      less than the year before
yet they hold

            and wait.

Contribution Number Dos

Following Dave's example, here. I did one of those erasure poems b/c I was bored and have never done one. It's from an article in The Week about robots eventually having self-awareness. This might be a candidate for BOTB some day. I buried it in my garden next to my cucumber plant.

We want machines to perform

we need embryos to align

on the path of consciousness we want to adapt,

learning how to learn,

to take care of existence and construction and

design.

To improve conditions, kinds of tasks, self-awareness.

We want machines to perform

the more we need.

Burial Poem 9 --38 44' 16.09" N, 109 30' 5.84" W

The words collapse
into the salt beds
below these earthen monuments
carved by the sea
long gone well before
man took his first breath
and grunted at the world
he would grow to misunderstand
now wind rushes
through dry river beds
across red stone
over mesas
and into canyons
then settles beneath
this delicate arch
it carries dust
sounds a call
land speaks
beyond the words of man.

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Burial poem 8 --34 56' 32.92" N.111 37' 39.36" W.

In the ruins
a stone cabin
fallen deserted
I begin to rebuild the wall
my wife hangs the windows anew
her father raises the front door
her mother arranges the living room
the grandfather prepares the kitchen
the grandmother sets the table
her brother builds the front deck
his girlfriend picks wildflowers
to decorate it all
I give up on the wall
and I'm sure if our aunts, uncles,
cousins
my mother
my father
my sister, my other brother
in-law, and nephew too,
if they were here, they'd all help lay
the roof
or we came to this fallen house
stood before its hearth still standing
took a photo and it's rare
to find someone
who only needs a wink and a smile
though you'll pray to give her more
than you can dream
and even more rare
to find a family
who will let you into this place
and their memories
then give the moment
to bury these words.

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Burial Poem 7 --33 31' 49.74" N, 112 15' 22.86" W

Here on the bathroom floor
I lie in a burning shiver
and a clenched bowel
as the spirits of Ugh and Ack
circle round me.
"Two days, no burial."
"Well, the meat was pink."
"But who could see that beneath the sauce"
"Ah, the sauce was good..."
"Hold on he's dry heaving again."
"It won't change anything."
"True, he has to wait it out."
Ugh tightens around my torso
Ack climbs down my throat
"Maybe he'll see it as cleansing."
"Or he'll just hate us."
"So nothing lost."
and so we pass the time
until morning when they leave
and I can stand up.
Note to self:
Avoid chicken at Italian restaurant
stick to pastas, cheeses, salads,
and wine.

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Burial Poem 6 --34 33'14.16" N, 112 15' 56.59" W

Late Burial

Down from the plains
         standing in a ditch
         on a road through the mesas
and the dry earth I see
         sky spread out like wings
         of giant desert birds
seldom seen as clouds
         billow, build and rise
         into a forever beyond me
and what I can believe
         while rays of light
         sweep down through
the clouds like golden fans
         one or a hundred
         miles away--
I lose count--lightning's
         fingers dance across
         the earth and wind
deepens from a far off hum
         to a howl as clouds
         join just before the desert
storm I look down to see
         the feather of a buzzard
         laid across the sun
                                 bleached bones.