The painting under which now rests
a candle lit,
a body, in some repose
but not yet fully away..
For just now Orion poses,
snow clouds set off the crescent
but do not, in the end,
let down their blanket.
In fact later, both mine 
and her visage
are same, white.
She hanging there above, me below.
The vine, with still, chilled fruits
arches its mature way up
to frame a Korean Fir I set.
My work here is done, sleep.

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