Old Jewish Cemetery, Prague
How many bodies have you consumed,
O stone-scarred earth,
your face a mass of roots and rock,
your bone-fed grass, a flower
to remember the dead?
For year on year they lifted your skin
of soil to bury a little closer to the surface
another unfortunate soul.
The rain, which purified holy bodies,
twice-washed, board-laid, shroud-clothed,
purifies again the mortal flesh