she wakes
with egypt painted
around her eyes
the footprints of deep cleveland
tread lovingly upon her pages
anguish the opium of the living
in dying rust belt towns
children crying for the burning fields of gold
eyes searching for dead mother industry
he had come close
standing before her in the night
as she chanted
with her book of incantations
magic to coax a serpent up the spine
leather bag carried
from the city of the queen
art brought forth to revive
what was killed by rome
“My darling you were a mortician, but now you are a resurrectionist…”