Poem of What is Taken

I have stumbled upon
a career. Like other detective stories
this one begins with a dead body.
My fascination is covered
by a mountain, her face
by white hot dunes.
Nearby a simple poultice cup,
a spindle. The tiny dresses
she smocked for me
still preserved in plastic.
One day I will awake a bride
with no one to help choose
colors. Pear for the bridesmates
and I think for Dannyka, ivory.
In some dreams she is
the most beautiful woman on earth
desiccating
in the position of her last
unfolding.
On the headstone it is raining.
Through far
millenia
this afterflowing.
The archeaologists will say
traces of tears on the undug body,
traces of love

Dannyka Taylor