Poem 'Threnody for Two Dead Children'

Threnody for two dead Children

Death has made for you a blanket of stars;

a cradle within a field of stone.

Your mother is twice cursed and

tumbles through black dreams.

An unwanted blood gift wrapped in you;

harden the eye and rid yourself.

Bloody clothing crusting crimson

heaped on a sterile floor.

Death has made for you a blanket of stars;

a cradle within a field of stone.