Reburying Poems | Examples

One Morning When I Wake

I emerge, worn out
from the long hours
that stretched sleepless across
much of the night. The morning
reveals my work, a headspace 
of holes dug by the burrowing 
machines of thought, 
a few scattered bones
and a brain full of junk.

I spend the day repairing 
my inner plot, raking over
the holes, reburying the bones
and using the junk to make
a scarecrow I can hang
above my bed. By evening
I'm done.

One morning, when I finally 
get a good night's sleep without
being holed by the burrowing 
machines of thought
ploughing through my head, 
I'll probably wake to find 
the buried bones have taken
root and the scarecrow 
snuggled up beside me
in my bed.