Flames of her passing
stream the silence between
breathless twines of human grace,
the air, her plane–the smooth fall
among the flesh,
a look to pin the longing touch,
thirst for the flight they cannot share.
Merely human, cries the hush
of lights along her occupation–
no remedy for the pale drip
her candle set upon the choir.
Night lies in the dismount.
beautiful. …so mysterious and elegant!