After a Great Loss

Go Down the dream voice said:

into the well, the mud bottom,

bog woman. Go down to taste

where you come from, mud angel,

the muck and swill you forgot.

Leave your books to the rain,

let the road maps be snatched

by a gust, axe the piano, melt

the silver inside your self

in a hot god-fire. Go down

where ancient crows gather

their screech, where their blue-

black wings thicken the sky,

into the speechless well, word-

woman, into the thick of it.

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