These holy remains,
stacked “like firewood”,
their empty cavities moaning silence
blind sockets gaping at us, we gape back.
did they imagine, when they laid
their beloved ones
here, stacked in rotting stench – knowing they
would not move again but would only grow more still
rooted to this cavern, flesh melting into
the ravenous dark –
they would only be illuminated by camera flashes?