English poetry

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The Fear Of Burial

In the empty field, in the morning,
The body waits to be claimed.
The spirit sits beside it, on a small rock
Nothing comes to give it form again.

Think of the body’s loneliness.
At night pacing the sheared field,
Its shadow buckled tightly around.
Such a long journey.

And already the remote, trembling lights of the village
Not pausing for it as they scan the rows.
How far away they seem,
The wooden doors, the bread and milk
Laid like weights on the table.


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Poem The Fear Of Burial - Louise Gluck
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