Death robs us of our identity.
Walking down the rows of grave stones
In that small cemetery outside of Decatur
I was struck by the fuzziness of the marble.
The names were growing faint…
Step between the graves-
Don’t step on their heads.
File upon file of dead inhabitants;
You must remember where to keep your feet
Don’t step near the grave stone,
That’s the ultimate insult:
To trample over the still lips of the dead.
They can’t cry out.
God has taken their breath.