The Dash Between   I do like cemeteries — there it is. I like the stones, the names, the living sending off the dead (they said they wanted peace) — a number, another number, the end. But still, the stories in the stones rise like colored smoke from the barest of clues. “Dear Husband” — maybe truth, maybe lies, maybe nothing of the kind.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont February 2010