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.
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