we may be landscape
a pastiche of neighborhood and terrain
but do you see the graves

they are hidden and not hidden
in the folds of hills in the patchwork lines
we have latticed over earth

a lot goes into living
we toil like worms, like salmon
behind plows, in boats

sleek nervous carnivores
staying in motion
we visit the ocean and take in shows

with their orchestration of mad pastel lights
we mount Ferris wheels
as if duty bound to spend

ourselves out like uncoiled fence wire
unspooling between field and road
unspooling as if racing for the end of boundaries
unspooling until we arrive in the next frame over
unspooling into the grave
so neatly lined up

that we can miss them
that we can pass by
without remembering the dead

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Corbett Buchly has published more than 80 poems in various journals, including, Rio Grande Review, Plainsongs, and Barrow Street. He is an alumnus of Texas Christian University and the University of Southern California.