You are a disquieting muse in this mourning:
Your fluted wings made silver by the sun
After a long day of redemptive power
Of having someone and something to care for.
Mummering, "Bardo, Bardo."
Though at night, still sewing at the kitchen table
(Black under your eyes. Shiny skin stretched over cheekbones
Your hair a bright bramble of white, seeded with beetles)
Mummering, "Bardo, Bardo."
A shadow stole into your place
Murmuring: "Bardo, Bardo, Bardo."
You are a disquieting muse:
Your fluted wings made silver by the sun
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