[churchyard]
once, each of these graves was new;
their families' mourning piercing.
these blocks of stone bright,
no yellow lichen, mottled green
or seeping blackness,
no dying grass between gravel and slab.
they held a fresh grief.
bitter tears long gone
but hanging in the rock,
tears i can feel in the air.
meaningless as they are,
these tablets and crosses
mark one intricate life
and its passing away,
falling to sleep,
death.