blindness in the sun

Kurt Nimmo

another cemetery.
my wife likes to take photos.
she takes photos of stone angels.
I walk alone through the tombstones.
this is depressing.
I read the names and dates.
in this cemetery just about everybody died
when they were forty-five.
others range from zero to ninety-nine years.
inscriptions say this person
is finally at eternal rest
and another
has been called home.
I keep walking.
I like the sun.
I notice my wife.
she is taking a photo of an angel.
I cross the lawn to where
she stands with the camera.
I look at the angel.
the face is cracked down the middle
and birds have plucked out
and eaten the eyes.
in the sun
since 1947.