by Marcus Draik

Emaciated number
The folds of skin hang limp around unsearching eyes
Shorn of hair and hope, and human touch
The smoke of burning bodies
Crawling with six legs upon her skin
The earth is cast in hell
And carrion takes its station underfoot
Rest comes now to the weary,
Her rocky pillow, once her sister's skull
Greet ye new earth together
Bestowing, after all
The human touch