beneath quiet trees,
a stone stands still,
holding more than names.

hands come together,
not to say goodbye,
but to remember.

this place is not an ending,
but a point of connection,
where time gently folds.

the kanji “墓” speaks of rest—
not silence alone,
but presence that remains.

in watercolor light,
grief softens,
and gratitude finds form.

what is loved does not disappear;
it waits here,
quietly, faithfully.