A cemetery rises from the beach sand in the north.

They call it the ghost city,

and between the

white dust

and the

white sky

the tombs paint themselves,

jewel tones,

candy palaces and St. Basil's Cathedrals,

two years old and crumbling.

Immense silence swallows

fake money offerings,

finger incense,

beach grass,

and breathes out ghosts

like opium

settling its smoke above the ground.