The empty
nightgown
hanging on the door.
its bodiless shape
the vacuity of hope
that
resurrection is more than myth.
The sleeveless wonder
of remembered
arms, fingers
frozen in a single
caress.
Whole visions
emerge
from thinning fabric
cloth returning
to threaded
memories
patterns of provocation
casus belli.
Wisps of delight
and destruction
hidden
in shapeless folds
soft, cool to the touch
utterly
empty...yet full.
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