The Etruscan graveyard at Marzabotto. (New poems).(Poem)

 
The Etruscan graveyard at Marzabotto 
 
   At the dump, the packaged waste 
   as neat as war-graves 
   awaits destruction: 
   the drone of a generator 
   insists on efficiency, promises 
   to destroy all traces: 
   on the spring wind 
   there is one other sound, 
   the whisper of discarded cellophane 
   like the voices of the dead 
   shiny and shivering with the season. 
   On the hill-top remain 
   in a fold of land 
   graves that are blocks of tufa, 
   the dark rock ...