“…I dress myself for the dust” ~ D. Bonta
As rapidly as I
was made, I will
be unmade. Buttons
and hooks are
timely preface.
Past bloom,
speckled orchids
drop like rumpled
washcloths. Soft-
ness on tile.
The mood is
always preparatory
to farewell— until
the gurgle in the gut
establishes the hour.
In response to Via Negativa: Raiment.