Grey to there, and back again. Two eyes from out the hole, a tuft of hair. Then again the stare. Place it there, where all lie, where no hand to hold. One stiff on top of another, scattered about the hole. Or stacked in rows, chucked in heaps near the pit. From where two eyes staring.
See the holes within the hole. A tuft of hair centered in the pit. Watch the blink, the prone and stiff, till unblinking swells anew.
Bury the squint, and glare out, past the hole, to grey, then back again.
Then, in the other dark, two darker, edged with grey, gazing toward unblinking white. The stiff still all dark and blind, hands clutching, feet askew, among the grey, about the pit.
Time to turn, to hold, and clutch, and cling. Send a hand, then back again, to stroke the tuft. Unblinking still, among the grey, prone and stiff. To stare, there, and back. From the two eyes closed, at the bottom of the heap. Clinging one to the other, then back again. Eyes closed, hair in the sun. This loving heap.
in Common Sky, Three Squares, 2002