In the Hajongard Cemetery

The angels with stone wings –

they too loved once,

and it seemed to them a wonder,

and now their names have washed away from their tombstones.

In condemnation of eternal rest,

they have a moment of respite:

when the setting sun warms the vestigial stone,

and the remaining letters of their names

are decked in gold by day’s last light.

No woman could ever be

as beautiful

as the marble nymphs,

nearly alive,

enticing silhouettes of the shadowy valley.

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