her myrrh
embalms for now
the murmur
 
humours
in healthy balance
hear the word
 
her need
(indeed only one)
she pours over 
the word
 
one death ends
with a word 
anointed
for its tomb
 
the word 'poor' always
and the word to be 
no more
among us
 
a word dies 
because it does not die
on her lips
 
emptied
of itself
the skin of words
 
sleep in-turning death's portal