tombstones
raze
two
plastic
stand
-ins
for
stone
markers
with
nothing
inscribed
on
their
frail
faces
conjure
a
canticle
in
the
key
of
confusion
each
time
i
stand
at
a
window
in
a
room
that
holds
everything
i've
come
to
hate
.
until
my
eyes
adjust,
i
always
see
something
still
living
.
maybe
it's
just
me
.
221007
what's it to you?
who
go
blather
from