There are so many people here
but all are still, invisible, dead.
Some are dust, some bones
and there is a deep regret,
not held by them, but by those living on.
You sit in company at the end of the boulevard –
the trees are all different.
The wind is noticeable, but kind.
Here and there one walks in pairs or with a dog –
this is a place of people getting used to death and to being here for ever for those who yet live on.