The Living and The Dead by Sandy Hiss

Early morning hour,
thirsty Wildflowers gather dew 
within fields toasted dry 
from the Cheyenne sun.

Like the flora, 
we gather our bones together
bind them beneath layers of cotton 
and metal buttons.

We walk in silence
upon a quilt of sage grass
and strands of sepia fox fur
beside antelope droppings.

Prairie dogs 
stand still as sentinels,
watching our every move
but we don't say a word.

A buffalo cloud
ambles above our heads
as we hover above tombstones
of settlers and soldiers.

Like the cloud,
we must have seemed pale as angels.
Convinced we are the living
looking down on the dead in pity.

Sandy Hiss writes poetry and short fiction.  She has always been intrigued by haunted houses, ancient cemeteries, forests, gardens, and abandoned buildings. Sandy currently resides in Southern California with her husband and two children.