DUG IN THE SUN

DUG IN THE SUN and the sun burnt us sick—
chalk and flint and hard—
and us built a hole for ours dead to climb down
and nest at the bottom in bones.

Bend, rise, bend, rise—clack
the rubble high, and the beds
were black, deep and long
for all ours dead to lie down.

As day burnt low, red to cold,
small fires crawled the hill.
Ay watched the long darks walk.