Arrangement by rage
of human rubble
the false-eternal statues of the slain
until they putrify.
Tossed on a pile of dead,
one woman,
her body hacked to utter beauty
oddly by murder,
attains the absolute smile
of dispossession:
the marble pause before the extinct haven
Death’s drear
erasure of fear,
the unassumed
composure
the purposeless peace
sealing the faces
of corpses—
Corpses are virgin.