issue 23 > poetry > cruz

I saw one close to the river leaving Kaunas
but earlier for several days I’d gone past one
where the graves stretched
along a hillside’s gentle slope;

it rose up from a secondary road
and climbed;
this one was similar
the one I saw now on my journey:

without walls nothing separating them
from the living paths along which passed
the living, right beside
the dead, playing out their scene






Also by Gastão Cruz and translated by Alexis Levitin:

On Public Transport