Dust dances in Jacob ladder beams,
flushed with colour, a sky soft brown.
She dies leaded, under bulrushes tall
yawns then sighs with impeccable relief
as the day fades into her muted tones.
The Pen sees her moon hide behind
torn clouds, cannot question her fate
only gawp, catch her breath,
as rotting smells hang thick
in the air, nestle inside of her head..
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