Under moonlight

he exhumes souls

admiring their afterglow

and weeps

To be a caretaker for the departed must be a lonely role. To watch over, not life, but death. Who were these people? Were they happy? A graveyard is filled with stories without a storyteller. One only gets to see the final page of a book. So I imagined a solitary figure able to commune with souls. Hearing their tales one last time before their souls wade into the æther.

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