The panes of the waning staircase
fading in a far field
fog and brambles
bloody cushion the fallen body
the longest branch
eats hands and mouths
glass holds the body
and sends through its transparencies
a shot-up apple
long linoleum floors where a water cup has fallen
and viscera flows
hampers of folded rye
and the food of reptiles
languishing on the end of a sword
to store up a frockless dancer
and spill pants on the runway
she has slashed and planted.