a face walks the distance
a stye in the blackness
it cries pale tears
as the walls are raised above it
and there is nothing,

nothing at all
it can say

for there is nothing to
say
nothing at all

and beneath the sand
trembling armies crouch
around the body
of a young girl

younger
and more beautiful
than anything anyone has seen

more beautiful still than
the black blades of flowers
than the clean ribs of Heaven
than the calligraphy of
soiled limbs

and nobody
has anything
to say.