Laces through her lips

They closed her
Covered her
Some with silence
One and the light in a glass
Burned on as if names in the shadows.

The shapes of such days are mysteries
Of light and darkness
I thought her pale remains a chapel
And black bells at sunset

The holy alcove, the measured pendulum
The lofty belfry, her last refuge
A bow like fever’s ribbons, wrought in blood

Sing lost now
The approaching silence
Sing lost, lost in shadows

Where lately rose her gentle storms.