no graveyards actually only the dead
words to not say, no given names, no one's name
no misfortune yet, little steps that ice over
each year I walk through a new town
with words, bones, hair, glasses
I walk with someone who wrote a book
"then went away on tiptoes"*
to find the horizon of horizon's tomorrow
*Anne Hébert

Translated by Sylvain Gallais and Cynthia Hogue