From under no stone erected
a breath, undetected. Above,
some crossroads a coach—atoning
for its emptiness, impatient
as flesh is impermanent—sits
open; anticipating bone
to form where passengers—absent—
would have sat, had calcifying
memory any mourners left
to distract from life’s last journey.
In tandem with death’s aftermath,
steeds riderless stir and react.
Their driver—by panic driven
back—attacks her song as fodder
for men who—warm in blood—happen
on the spot with nothing else to
offer. A devil’s deal, the feigned
glamour of this girl whose ancient
suicide its illusion for
a price performs. Your life for hers!