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
