she wakes
with egypt painted
around her eyes

the footprints of deep cleveland
tread lovingly upon her pages

anguish the opium of the living
in dying rust belt towns

children crying for the burning fields of gold
eyes searching for dead mother industry

he had come close
standing before her in the night
as she chanted
with her book of incantations
magic to coax a serpent up the spine
leather bag carried
from the city of the queen

art brought forth to revive
what was killed by rome

“My darling you were a mortician, but now you are a resurrectionist…”