i weave among the corpses
some return to dust
others (those a'cursed with wealth)
remain in steadfast boxes
left to rot without the help of worms

i pause in front of tomb
that appears to my young eyes, ancient
balancing the rickety frame against my thighs
i attempt to pull my phone from
the recesses of my backpack

"No," He croons. "Let the dead sleep."

i walk back to the main road
all the while wondering
if festered flesh may dream.