And so we walk and so we talk and the cemetery never ends, shaming the map and justifying the name.
And the red flickers and the sun shimmers, and winds blow the dust and crackle autumn leaves.
Names are listed, accusation or a prayer, epitath or a praise, colors change and names are called.
And so we walk like we once walked like we never were where we never will.
And the mask is yellow old, and the dress is now tattered, but the eyes that are not still expectadly look without a single word.
Our story is not over but it will never continue, it has finished in water and in fire and now we walk through the cemetery, and think of each other.
We don't look at our faces, do not speak to each other, air catches the words and they are dragged into whispers.
Turn around, catch each other in the edge of the iris.
And we yesterday whisper: "I am not only you. And you are not only me".