“…I dress myself for the dust” ~ D. Bonta

As rapidly as I
was made, I will
be unmade. Buttons
and hooks are
timely preface.

Past bloom,
speckled orchids
drop like rumpled
washcloths. Soft-
ness on tile.

The mood is
always preparatory
to farewell— until
the gurgle in the gut
establishes the hour.


In response to Via Negativa: Raiment.

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