From the Flowering Plumb
Add these things to your worn
satchel when living in the ashes
the day’s center a longhouse what
remains whole the saddest truth
dissolves the ashes now turned
to food now children now your
father tending to what’s left of
his fields his cathedral his mule
life in the ashes now no more
holy than white roses gathered
at dusk code for the wandering
griefstricken with open wounds
thought to be too deep to
       italics mine
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