She’s limp on his body, this moment in a Death-smeared home - an embrace - though
I’ve come to love the exchange of bodies.
At the entrance door to the dead
is where mirroring begins and not before.
What god would hear my prayer?
You without you - imagine.
Rightly I salute you gone before you
and the music-makers and the celebrators
now without you Now she is
a hollow spirit - the most faithful woman one could harness,
riding the path of the wind to where great ideas lay,
safe, boxing the prize,
gone before you