she bequeaths the ends
to an early grave
its ambit rent by spade
like the earth
she is but dust
and then dust
until an early mourning
she is undetermined
and shallow as the gave
soon she will be rested
as auburn hair did once
upon a shore, new
her habitat an easy god
her grace the monotony
of aimlessness and unlike crystal rivers
this apocalypse will be earthward
to the gathered
and the heretics
wine to the fallen
and bread to the grave
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