Lost my voice

Words dry as funerals

For those missed, but

Not particularly loved

The winch enjambed 

Halfway down

The earth’s slate and crumbling

Throat, a shout in stone

Pyrrhic –I think they say

All those glazed white dancers

Carefully incised, but

Startled, paper eyed

I am simply

— Erased in evening

To a more consuming kind of light

       — Now at a loss