Wanders hesitantly into death

And drops a ghostly blur upon this girl.

Her numbly waxen, cherub face

Emerges gently from the doorway’s blackness

As though the dark had given birth to it.

And then the falling light reveals

That something of a village hangs about her:

Something slumbering and ample.

The doorway is too small to hold

Her shoulders that are like a hill’s broad curves