the graveyard does not keep score. you are planting, not counting.
every coin here was held by someone. every holder here is reading this. we are a small club.
the ground is soft. the shovels are free. the stone is cheap. this is the one kindness a market can afford us.
every obit in the next row started as a stone like this one. mossy at the base. slightly crooked. smaller than the loss felt at the time. a ghost or two behind it, most nights.
we do not polish them. we do not straighten them. we do not charge for them.
we do not trade here. we walk here. we bury our coins. we keep their names. the ground remembers even when the chart does not. — RIP. open always.