Voiceover

Unseen across gardens of indeterminate breath
a Dona lilts
her soaring wander of demise. She furrows
a night valley of love
lost in the singed foothills of afternoon.
Heat and an array of possible attempts
to give us voice
prevail. She airs her Don,
jambs unscrewed.
She divas him,
undivided behind narratives
without accompaniment
or rainfall
and offered singularly to all
on charred lawns.

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