A new poem–written in Grasslands National Park


’76 Corral

All that’s left are your bones:
broken, splintered stelae
jutting from unpeopled places
where hope used to reside
but has long since departed.

These mortal remains
attest to your brief presence
like weathered tombstones
of the forgotten dead.

Were there an epitaph,
it would be unsparing:
“Here lies one who lived
but did not thrive;
who came
but did not stay.”

July, 2012

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