two throats choking on days uncharted
pools of dace that flickered and darted
through wallowing pillars that twine and murmur
on the brow of skies swearing soft murder

days too slick, too ancient to mention
she waded through forests of blossoming complexion
and then the sun bent like an Egyptian dog
and she alit to the branch that she worshiped upon

the girlish hand of the last blue wind
that laid palm upon an Earth that has sinned
recited into the ground a poem once written
once grown saint, that left her own kindred.
© C.S.G.