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Without wings
There she lies, cold upon the earth
cold as the burn that runs at the back of the house
sluggish as blood in collapsed veins
skin black as the sooty fluted columns
at the door of a Free Church
no one smiling
no one throwing confetti
no one caring
the dog on a rug in the garage
out of the rain,
the horse in the shed steaming
in its own piss
the sodden field that keeps rising
at the back of the house
where two windows look out without seeing
sterile reflections of clouded eyes
under a hypothermal blanket
a tube in the neck to take away fluid
a ditch in the yard to drain off the fields
clay chickens in the kitchen, stone eggs
a month old Christian calendar on the door nail
clothes to be smoothed piled under the table
the crack-crack of a loose gate never mended.