I slow to an awed walk under intricate, vaulted arches
extending over the empty courtyard,
switching off the blaring music in my headphones—
the silence is more interesting.

every inch of space is inscribed with uncountable names of dead people
nothing indicates life but the signs of constant garden upkeep.
there’s a cross in the middle of the patio
my foot drags on the pavement as i circle it
the sounds of me living are irreverent
to the thunderous preaching of lips long stilled.

my reflections chase each other
in the shadows I cast on the sidewalk
blending and contorting
with distorted ideas of light and graves and the cross
resulting in a sun stencil incomprehensible and inseparable
from the names etched on each memorial cobblestone.