with an italicized line borrowed from Connie Hales' series of poems on the Utah massacres of 1857
All the interrogations I meant to loft. Check.
That one apology to make again, in a different form,
In this next decade, near that pot
Of purple leaves. Check. Mind. Body.
Spirit. The fourth world. Yes.
The smell of the newly dead, cooling around you. Yes.
All the heart's ventricles, the last prayers delivered---
Spoken, written, sent. Let the next world begin.