The Fear Of Burial in  General   

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.

By Louise Gluck

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Other poems by Louise Gluck:

• A Fantasy
• All Hallows
• April
• Cana
• Castile
• Celestial Music
• Confession
• Early Darkness
• Elms
• First Memory
• Horse
• Labor Day
• Love Poem
• Lullaby
• Matins
• Midnight
• Nostos
• Parable Of The Dove
• Parousia
• Poem
• Portrait
• Retreating Wind
• Saints
• Siren
• Snow
• Snowdrops
• Summer
• The Butterfly
• The Fear Of Burial
• The Garden
• The Gold Lily
• The Pond
• The Red Poppy
• The Silver Lily
• The Triumph Of Achilles
• The Untrustworthy Speaker
• The White Lilies
• The Wild Iris
• The Wish
• Vespers
• Widows