Granite
the copper of one’s hometown
is more precious
than the gold or silver corner
of the end of the earth
skeletons of a life full-lived
here a dance hall
here the grocer
the narrow shack where
Mr. Last-Full-Time-Resident
ate his supper every evening
peopled by the muted ghosts
and pacing spectres in periphery
congregating about boney foundations
damp-handed air strokes
living necks
sunny tamarack burial grounds
dry pine-bough shrouds
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