in the real world
hills are for cemeteries
from a distance the gravestones
might as well be stumps
or teeth waiting for the other
jaw to descend
a woman lets
her rottweiler run
a gravedigger operates
a small backhoe
i browse the headstones
as if they were spines of books
GIVEN says one and i feel guilty
for killing time
try not to look over
at the mountain
its growing rash
of fresh stumps