Drift by quiet as swept dust.
One pauses--
the others are dominoes hastening
to a halt behind her--
Then still, lined up like letters of the alphabet
slipping silently from slackened lips--
     not ethereal or angelic
     but papery, frail
Absurdly human.
The heft of expectation embraces them
with a smothering breath--
     the secrets they possess
     the lives they have left
     and (silent as god)
     the prayers they have said--
They move again.

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