Ricket limbs of wizened mallee swing around
this wind-scraped acre. Where the track
skirts rust-scaled rails and toppled crosses cracked
and splintered gates rot softly on the ground.
Pigment leached from grey, etched epitaphs has smeared
eroded marble and flaked, sand-pocked slate.
God must have special ways to compensate
those souls for having left their bodies here.