Very well, and how are we
to commemorate this topical necropolis?
With a litter of dry bones
and leaves ground fine, I suppose,
as is customary in these parts.

The still-beating hearts
which adorn its ragged pathways
seem incandescent at twilight,
though this is merely illusory;
nothing glows nor grows here,
this much should be obvious.
And yet, there’s a deranged sort
of comfort in all this darkness and decay.

Therefore, let us walk these grounds
with the ease of corpses
as they repose in their well-furnished tombs.
For surely as there is room in us
for fear of life and all that it contains,
there is also room for love of death
and all that it liberates.

-r. miller

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