Yesterday, the land went dry.   I sprinkled ash of my neighbor's urn   Over the yard.      Sprinkled in the hope   That should I cut out   A pie wedge,   I would find gold.   Buried in the ground   Between the grass and growth.      Instead, the earth skin cracking   And a great wind, more ash,   Slivers of the ground burning in the eyes   Of ones, who, standing there...      Long ago, when it all began   The dog would dig the ground   And whisper, "Master, come to the garden.   By your hand to the spade, cut away behind your house.      Cut away for coins. Cut away to the buried..."