there’s a presence in the wind-blown sand
hovering in the rippling cool of winter
stacked stones of an old graveyard
unrecognizable but for the crosses

i remember sisters i met at a party
who pray over unmarked graves for
souls of the unknown & unloved

they believe it makes a difference
but the sand & wind say nothing
nor pay me any mind as i leave

i drive past a lettuce farm in the middle
of the desert, laughing at the concept,
knowing the roots of anything here
are not capable of reaching the dead

Selected byRaymond Huffman
Rob Breeding

Rob lives in the rural crossroads of Orchid, Virginia.  He is an environmental planner who loves birding and spends too much time typing into his phone.