And this shall be divided. For her
a tine to clip the bloody twine
that bound our meat, tine to pierce

The last toddler’s howls evanesce like ash
on a breeze, the parking lot empties of cars.
A purple shock of cotton candy rots

No velvet box or platinum setting,
no riding to hounds on the finger of a count,
no Interpol division to investigate

Someone shouts “Mehr Licht!” and a hundred drunk
Berliners run for flashlights. The maestro checks
his watch, lifts the phone. Six hours later he steps from a taxi

After the TV crews packed up
the doctors in charge
got bored quick—Find a needle