form filled space
into rings-
copperbound prophesies
one lost on midnight-tumbled streets
another clasped in hand still, unmarked
unbroken
but still sheared into scraps littering my carpet floor.
accoutrement ghosts
decorations for the dead things laying still in our hearts
proper burial is only awaiting the sunrise skyblossoming
perhaps
I will find my own worth in the waking world
this time,
doll