Abstract, cohesive,
Invigorating, sobering
Hypothetical absolutes.

They begin purifying the ground,
Wearing not black, nor the noisy character of day, but the ambiance of the rising of the moon,
Stealing through the enclosure, lit as at a dark twilight.
Not robbers nor beggars; skilled and cunning they fertilize unholy ground,
as idolaters often do.
Riddled with holes, they take the appearance of the corpses of her…
They seem to respond to Him, Him, Him alone.
He yells, “Descend, descend!” and she holds His stare, unable to respond, dazed, feeling as if to have ordered the command herself.

At sea (The Atlantic): Specific in the attempts towards land, firm-browed.
Until Leonardo/Jack/Iscariot runs on and Hope falls (jumps?), over the side, lost to the sea.
Ariel after the witch.
(At least Lost At Sea and The Little Mermaid were nominated for an Oscar! Leo couldn’t come through for Titanic! she smirks.)

That anonymous grin slowly disappears.
The Father steals the chords,
His Son goes for the teeth,
Their Eternal Companion with the lips. Yet

He

Remains.
Cursing heaven and hell with the ****** features she has left, weeping.
Yet she ticks, follows the schedule, knows not of the Divine confirmation with lubricating Oil. (Confirmation of what, she asks.)

And she knows life’s supposed to be joyous and full-formed,
But this play is too complex for her to perform.