It was Indiana
that held your grave

So I drove to the field in which you lie

And I walked for what seemed like miles
Through short grass and headstones

I found you hidden:
no marker, no name

I cursed that vile woman
For insulting you in such a permanent way

Then I put down those photos of you and I
that I had brought
and a letter written in haste

And I sat on the ground and cried
As the wind blew them all away