the field

how little
has changed in
the field.
the grass, trees
all grown and cut,
or gone.
new stones appear.
the fresh turn
of dirt. new
fences
where the old
ones fell,
rusted,
bent by late
night kids
with bottles
of southern
comfort.
places to make
love.
the hollows of woods
a sanctuary
for those still
alive.
how wide the field
is. the gentle
slope
always the same.
the crosses,
the crucifix,
the marble,
a star of david,
plain slabs
imbedded in the ground,
inscribed.
my dear one.
my beloved.
how beautiful
the field is.
how lovely in any
season
it sits, hardly
changing.
the gentle slope
always
the same.