Most are not blind, but still, might the concrete burial vaults
be perceived before a tunnel
comes to such a sudden, hard naught?
Though I notice their mounds mostly down here with the old stones, last row—
those graves that are not only
vaultless but with a wooden casket, too.
And the stories from the sexton? A filled tooth on a hill whitely shining,
and a mole in a trap one early June,
around its neck a wedding ring.