LOVELY THOUGHT TO HAVE HERE IN THE MIDDLE OF AN*

excavation in the shadow of an extinct volcano.

Even in late afternoon, I can hear the ancients whispering

as the amateur archaeologists—we’ve nick-named them

crypt-kickers—begin shrouding the site, 

especially the graves, finished for the day.

I sit off to the side near the well,

writing in my notebook. From my vantage point, if

I look one way, I don’t even see the scavi**, only the farm-

land and off in the distance, the gentle hills that were

once volcanoes. And the ancients’ voices are filled with

quietude and peace as the shadows march longer across

the field.

*From Elizabeth Bachinsky’s poem Sometimes Boys 

  Go Missing III from the book Home of Sudden Service.

**scavi - slang abbreviation for excavation area in an archaeology dig