Outside the search area, a wheat field whisks away sound.
A cross on a collarbone
shines in sunlight like an unseen beacon. When the wind blows over her at night
does the wind know she is already gone? Does she know? Of course not. Death
only troubles the living left behind to feel it. Beetles crawling

through her hair in search
of a soft spot to rest. Flashlights will find her
and she will pass through the back doors of her family’s church one last time
but it will still be too late. Let the tired dogs sleep tonight.