Sonnet #105

Lay the burdens down upon the grass

Where ants may pick upon them from below

And eventually the rain will unmask

The wilted pieces of the load away from stones

Bury stones of burden without memorials

Except the scrape where dirt was pulled away

Eventually the weeds will get territorial

And leave no other marker on the grave

These burdens, now, the stones of them

Will sink through soil in time to join with lime

The weight and press of all the stones, the hem

of crust at edges of the rock, the lines of time

Will merge with all the burdens buried by us all

And we will wake from up the grass, renewed, full.