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