The building's foundation respected the corpses.It lay above the graves, he noticedbut lofted, not right on topso the dead bodies could breathe.He always refused to wrinkle.He's furrowed his brow butonce the curiosity settledHis face became lineless again.That's how he charmed her:Teases, pokes, winks and risks."You take years off of me," she said."Be careful, don't take them off of yourself."He smelled the must,touched the dustFingered the numbers,the years of her life and death.He sighed, relieved,his beloved still breathes. No.The grave's epitaph breathes her out.Her whole story exposedBut one word he traced again and againCherished.He cringed at the flowers laid.He would have preferred the tradition of rocks.Rocks don't die, don't wilt, are never frailRocks hold down dead trees.He walked out.And for the first time in his lifeHe hunched.