Jonathan Hine

death held a rose

the lifted death-head grinned
stiffened whiteness
and passed into smoke
the empty act was now dispersed,
come out andlet go of.
probably something
someone once did
by someoneit used to be.
no reason to be
standing there
without even
a resemblance
to human woe,
though possibly
still imposed upon
by a limit
on infinity

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