For Helen of Clay
This ground as grains of harvest
Unsown, porcelain as loose stone, rose
Pressed willow gold; across bloodied shoulders
A pale flag unfurls for in your world
Helen lies dead. A life of faith one burial
In Ilion's ruins recounts in faded murals.
History: a thousand ships sailing for home
Buoying shards & fragments tossed
By storms patient to surface; the price
Of this union little more than wares
Of kiln & glaze haphazardly thrown
In some harbor as yet uncomposed.
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