OK, NOT SO BAD, LEMOYNE
They've taken down another trestle
and another tree. I see that, clearly.
It's as if every day now brings
something new, but all the new
is always the same. Hazel was
buried at St. James Hill, but her
gravestone has never been dated.
Nearby to her, those old Hungarian
crosses, of concrete, are now peeling
off the rebar beneath. All that gets
left are the metal-bar crosses, as the
concrete drops to the ground. Like
Death itself was the mason.
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