Bones of Men

Bones forgotten jut
from grass and gravel
and warm damp earth,
grave markers, rising
like drowsy-eyed children.
Bones of men stacked
like the bones of ancient civilizations,
mud-bricks and clay and stone,
packed in layers one over another,
built and rubbed flat over years.
Bones forgotten sprouting
from the ground, striving.
Fibula and tibia and femur,
unresting bones uneasy
beneath grassy quilts
tossing in fitful dreams,
They feared not the reaper, but that
the rain would wash their bodies away.

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