Had someone gently closed a French window
Cutting that broad
Tissue of sound? In time her senses dimmed;
Only her flat
Silver maintained her kinship with the world:
Two volute fish
Forks were lacking; once complete, she came
Not to notice. …
Furniture of a summer house, all character
Blurred by its scarecrow
Sheeting, the outer world was now opaque;
Elizabeth
Sat dying. Her doily-thin white hours drifted
Past. Then,
As a hemlock shrouded in snow, in a snow-forest,
Cascading mutely
Down Elizabeth fell, to be assumed
Into her satin
Niche, in the earth’s imperishable amphitheatre.
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