Death is a masque that is Moving.

I can feel you

In my love song.

Death a masque
That is moving.

Back of beetle, shiny pink worm

Death unfolding

A story retelling

Death is a masque moving

Now rising
In this roiling
A dark unseen

A gleaning

Nothing yet believing

Back of beetle, ebony weevil

Is a Moon worm
She is breathing

Masquerading Now rising

And it’s shining.

In this season
Which is turning

Now revealing
A greening
Gently rising

And a breathing
Now releasing

A love song
In my seeing

Now believing
Still unseeing

Death is masque
That is turning
Nay a twining

Braided down
The long back

Of Women

Maidens swelling
Mothers screaming

Crone whose back is bending
Now releasing
Death as a love song

I am a love song.

On my skin

Once a gleaming now revealing

Time as passing
Love is a song

I am dying

To sing In the twining

Golden hair moving
On the neck Which is holding

A song of time
Emboldening

On the black sheen of beetle
Underneath the weaving pink

Undulating

Underground

Is Death masquerading
And the Green always praying

For a rising
and a Reaching

And the Sun
Whose
Golden
touch

Is a love song

I am a love Song

I am a love Song

A love Song

Through a death masque
That is our birthing.