In the city of the dead
with my mother. Necropolis
is many cities:
they float amid
the listening geometry & I
said things
not said
when they could have been said
& saw shapes.
My father
slowly closed his back to the
shut earth, & I
drifted ahead,
pausing to browse among
names
& sealed numbers
as they led me quietly
stone to stone
endward. I
among the rows imagined
absent mourners’
thoughts, hovering
low like abandoned clouds:
each belonging
silent to a silent
seldom-revisited mirror
in the ground.
EN 
MK