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Rubaiyat for Maya


Where, in windswept passages, she waits
with chest torn open; crows approaching, Fates
to share the feast, their wisdom left behind.
Beneath the ice, her shadow congregates

with pigments. From the stone and blood they grind
the colour for a canvas too refined
to leave the earth; and from her fingers drips
the chrism that is honesty defined.

She straightens, sets a smile upon her lips
and builds the world anew. With care she strips
the scales from eyes, the thorns from foot and hand,
and weaves them into thread. She sighs and snips,

the pattern forms. It twists to her command;
a thousand shining hues replace the bland.
The harmonies in all that she creates
spread joyfully across her reborn land.

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