in maine

up north
where the ground
is hard until
late spring,
and the bodies
rest and wait
in the cool
rooms,
for the earth
to soften
before they go
in, she lies.
she is still,
quiet among
the stones that
go on and on,
in the hills.
where snow has
drifted upon
the names
that went before
her and where
more will come
again.