Joris Iven





I stand by Mauraís grave and look out over the hills. The hills

arch their backs in Moynalty and lie huddled together

to preserve generations of secrets. The ivy scales

the trees in Moynalty and the trees spread out their branches

over the hills. They protect the dead in Moynalty.†

The clouds hang heavy above the hills, the meadows and

the fields. The clouds weigh down on Moynalty. The dead

conceal themselves and inhabit the empty houses in Moynalty.

They talk to the living and eat from their tables in

Moynalty. The houses have a dignity like that

of the trees in Moynalty. They lodge the dead

and the dead live in Moynalty. I stand by the grave, and

squeeze your hands, and those of your mother, Maura, in Moynalty.




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