what now moves  the mouth of her  to speak? giving of  weight, unloosening like  a child from a mother's
  arms and assumes  the back of mirrors. giving
  as in giving way to salt of sea and coming back with
 heaviness of a wave, lapping the abyss is what this ripe blade pushes into her skin when all move
 but stray, foreshortening distance like a bullet unwound from a marvelous catch then
 prides herself dumb from all contention, aching to part twilight are hands, reaching for sibilant days or simply  her once perfume all the world knows.