She Lit Her Cigarette

sigh, and short breaths inhale
click, spark, hiss
she lit her cigarette in the dark
the bench was stale and chilled
to reflect such an evening

No Tombstone

Greenish rustling blades of grass
New soil mixed with old
Between leaf skeletons
Disguise what lies beneath,
Far below indefinite layers of earth and time
Memories and legends compacted six feet under
Six million earth rotations over

So many more forgotten after swiftly passing nights
Than those called to mind now and again
Than those remembered after that first black visit

Gnarled branches shelter those eroding concrete homes
Twisted roots lace over ad around,
Embracing each and nearly all

My own gaze neither shelter nor embrace
But only tells of a desire to hear so many stories
To trace the treasure map trails to buries X's
To enter this place and answer my own lingering gaze

Not time now,
Though yet,
To follow such a gaze above rotten bones
No tombstone here carves my own name