Every headstone in my dream is a camera lens

I'm walking the rows at night and every single stone has a small lens set into the granite — not actively recording, just noting things down, keeping count of who still visits. The names on them are eroding in real time while I watch, like the stone itself is deciding who gets remembered and who gets filed away. I keep trying to wipe one clean with my sleeve, but it's been raining for years and the moss has already moved in.