The lost capacity
 to foresee
 and to forestall.
 
 Margaux makes fresh eye contact,
 fibrous slivers,
 a sickly resemblance to
 scrambled eggs.
 
 Her plan to elude the elderly
 resembles the skeleton of
 a shark’s jaw;
 the rapidly accelerating collapse
 of the Great Dying,
 a sulphuric stew
 with somewhat more circumspection.
 
 The ice started a fire;
 there is no other evidence or 
 indicia of truth.
 
 She was fully aware of the power
 that came with being ill,
 and annexed over the future
 of the universe.
 
 Like a perpetual motion machine
 outside the threshold of
 the church,
 something has snapped inside,
 evil is not subsiding,
 an emptiness of the soul,
 irrevocable loss weighing
 on the heart.
 
 Irving is giving me
 a good spanking
 with a shoe.