Ethereal mist descends over clouds
Of vision; no longer is memory
A life-line in times of ill autonomy
Only in duxal power is it found
The spider-web: what was, and could have been
Has been cut and carved to pieces, like the
Breast on a bone at a family feast
Before it’s tossed aside for dogs to eat
And yet, this severance has had no fatal flaw
That limb was torn from tendon was, necessity;
There is distance now, between hands and mouths agape
But it’s minutiae in the workings of serenity
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