I step, ruined, into such a sunset.
The good red and orange smoke my tatters.
He has slapped the crown from my head. I was
A Queen Once.
My kingdom unsurpassed.
Now, when I walk
The most tender shoots of grass
Bend away from my white feet
In shame. In shame.
My glory uproots and flees
I sing alone without echo or reverberation.
In the dusk, I am unpainted
And no competition for the full-blessed sky
Look, how low I step.
The ramparts are slick with disappointment.
The courtiers have not even will to laugh
Behind my back, but merely
Tuck and shrink in pity.
My palms have been wrenched clean of gilding.
My crown has been slapped off my head.
I was
A Queen Once.
In this squawking night
I pass through fainter thunder.
My arms are lilies, and snap
Down to the tip-turned mountain.
What breath I had, I stole.
What breath I had, I stole.
Sheets of escaped tribute in my
Poor, flexing fingers.
Whitemoon grieving
Tears that spill from lips, not eyes.
My throat is no longer my masterpiece
But merely his handhold.
We enact the massacre
Of an entire history
But I am orphaned
Without sisters
Bled
Dust
Mercifully, I cannot get any whiter.
A gleaming casket
That will not gleam if
I am laid in it
The lime like my flesh
Subdued and holy
Breaking my body down
To match my spirit.
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