What do the dead steal from us with the glance --
loving, offended, shocked or just relieved --
they cast us as they go ? And what do we
lift from them as we watch them disappear ?
One instant, and a shady deal concludes.
A bit of life, a bit of death change hands,
a lutestring for a hairhank, nothing more
unless you count the hillside and its slash
of footfall without purchase in sheer mud.
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