At the military cemetry, I am struck
by the myriad patterns of the crosses;
marvelling at the precision over and
over as I walk into new perspectives.
In death, the soldiers in this postumous
parade still creating the most beautiful,
mathematically correct symmetries.
The precision: clean, uniform, orderly;
identical crosses stretching into the
distance to the glory of the dead, to the
glory of the army. Individuality un-
observed; humanity absent; an army
of stones.
