It is a shanty-town heaven built of headstones and clouds,
littered with leaves,
its horizon made of sticks and naked winter trees.
The angels here are silent,
voices stilled by throats of concrete,
their eyes empty of any feeling.
I look on with small envy
until a black-white cat steps from between two graves
and miaows loudly.
I kneel to pet it, and smile.

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