Slow ride into the black pond
Soot and root echo ruin
Slinging forth pain

She has gone away with the withering dawn
Stopping her silent withdraw
******* fruit with Dawson

Reaping hay in the October harvest
Rings form in her irises
Roles are switched

Rudely drawn wings spring out
Reminding the angels
Rewarding belief

Dunes of gold build up along the ridges
Dried lips soften and rehydrate
Dropping lifeless skin

Divine curvatures are left exposed
Driven off the warm host
Dying in a lonely place