Issue 168, Winter 2003
Her warmth had fallen on silence, in spite of all promises. . .
rank after rank they bled, according to their caste
each rank a source for the next of savage harvest.
The sun didn’t break on Her eyes in a newborn crest
of light, the moon wouldn’t turn back to guide the night
with its gentleness, the earth hadn’t come to rest
under Her feet like a ship lighting on its right
harbor, tied up safe in its slip as She waited.