Name Less

In early morning sprouting
A numbered mushroom building
towers just south of the old jail
across the street from the defunct hospital
I circle it slowly.
It looks like a bank, with a drive through.
On a small door in the back, the words
cremation services.
I round each corner and drive through the large colonnade
and  still there is no name.
This exit from our lives has no name.
The building is large and crisp,
newly risen in the night
yet leans out over me
as I slowly slink away.

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