Relics

The hollow brass,

A belly bulging round to hold a body,

Roast one living when they fire it to orange red,

Is art

Inside the upstairs exhibit room

A bit off to the right.

She's reading from her lit-up screen

To the plaque

And back.

When I turn aside,

She's reading me

Although the years

Have certainly not

Sanctified my hidden dead

Or cast me hallow.

- 1/8/26