Mannfield Cemetery

Take a right turn at marker 53, cross
the tracks. Deep in woods of oak trees and crosses

there are memories planted. a garden of rotting
wood caught in weeds and green moss crosses.

Few feet have found this fading morass, this solemn
ground, a silenced chorus de l'esprit- of crosses.

They've been buried beneath branches, left beneath
leaves for years, sleeping years, creeping crosses.

I hand-rake the lichen, cake the soggy green
between fingertip and nail, I scratch clean the crosses.

Absent from the body, present in the Lord.
J.R. 1867-'93. From life through veil he crossed.

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