CEMETERY
looked like a garden cemetery
If they had not the trees with twisted branches
If cartouches broken not lying forgotten among
the thin grass and sparse
If tips arrogant obelisks
not scream their protest to the sky.
A blade of light like a spotlight
Or a knife, breaking the old darkness
corroded brass and mirrors on the chains
greenish
Around the loculi chipped.
E Pussino expect.
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