of which there are three
Cicada-perforated ground at the base of one, where the forest-opening at top reveals the song from above is different from its rhythms heard from below, where prickly pear blooms near the wild peach, grown from a visitor’s careless stone.
No view from the second, where the fawns flee in terror at our footsteps, and the cicada husks on the undersides of sapling leaves stay put, no matter our song and attempts to dance, our footmarks alongside the doe’s.
Third, we haven’t visited together, because everyone goes among the graves alone, no matter the apparent company we keep near, because the stone monuments’ tracings of prayer mark the view and show each one the way to go.
This site is designed and maintained by GONECASE