Chalk and blackI was therewhen black licked over your name. Each letter of you now 6mm underblackboard paint. So you can be written over. I was therestill, barely, her line of sight catching my reflecting eyes. A dripping swipeacross my wet, buckling whites, two glass bowls blown black. I was paintedinside out, by a leaping brush: madea Russian doll containing infinite black ash,a funeral procession enlarging with each incarnation,not diminishing. I was no longer there, the last of mespurting into black petals that sank into the glass that met my lips: my only thought tosteal all the chalk from the world;to rest my head on your coffin black.