Unknown. Or rather Known Unto God.
I place a flower on the grave. Put my hand on the flat ground. Whisper. “Thank you.”
I move to the next stone. Read the inscription, same as the previous one. Same as the hundreds of others in this cemetery of the fallen. “A soldier of the Great War. Known to God.”
And to me. I place the flower. Rest my hand on the ground and wait. A voice comes to me, a sigh in the wind. I smile. “Hello, Thomas. Thank you.”