You looked at me
As if I were a broken muse
Jagged instead of smooth
A cracked carapace
A bag no longer containing God
And in this moment of your breath
I was a face for the morgue
The crematorium,
With the sifting of ash
To be your repentance-
The discovery of the shelf of a cheekbone
To be the only thing that held
The disappointment in alignment
Up to your rueful eyes