fingers trace lonely words,
crushing the dust bunnies
who gathered in the shadow
of the grigorium, the watching
people with weeping eyes--
and other existences never quite
given form, but all somehow
made incarnate as they listen.

at last the red-nail-car
grinds to a halt.
stops the ceaseless massacre
of the little dirt animals
that went unaccounted for
in her silent plea for confession.
for they shed dirt, not blood;
and that cannot disturb
the power of her written word.

A/N: breaking my hiatus. yay me.