Persephone

Be kind to her

She is willing to grow complete

Cultured in mourning

She knows perfection is only too close

One bloody perfect moment

After which there is no other

Nimble

Swept in far descent

Wise Dear Grave

Looking back over her shoulder

A terse text of deflection, depth

Palely visible beneath

Scratch of bang

And splinter of voice

Saying the things we say

And the things we never

With a need deeper than memory

I touch her arm

As she comes down those stairs

Almost crossing the dark plane

The invisible forever wall

That makes an act out of all we do