Wind mutters thinly on the sagging wirebinding the graveyard from the gouged dirt road,bends thick-bristled Russian thistle,sifts listless dustinto cracks in hard grey ground.Empty prairie slides awayon all sides, rushes toward a wideexpressionless horizon, joinedto a vast blank sky.
Lots near the road are the most expensive where heavy tombstones lurch a fraction tipped by splitting soil. Farther, a row of nameless heaps names weatherworn from tumbled sticks remember now the six thin children of a thin, shiftless home.
Hawk, wind-scouring, cutsa pointed shadow in the drab scant grass.
