AMEN


(After Georg Trakl, Rosary Song III)

Decayed thing gliding through rotting room;
shadows on yellow wallpaper; arched in dark mirrors,
our hands’ ivory sadness.

Brown beads trickle through dead fingers.
In the silence
an angel's blue poppy eyes open.

The evening is also blue;
the hour of our death, Azrael's shadow,

further darkens the little brown garden.

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