Eulogy

A girl in my sister’s house
wears nightmare
hidden in her eyes
still as a bird’s eyes.
When blood calls
the girl retreats into a brassy ring
that neither tears nor nourishment
can alter.

But a circle does not suffer
nor can it dream.
Her fingers twist into a married root
night cannot break her now
nor the sun heal
and soon its merciless white heat
will fuse
her nightmare eyes
to agate
her sullen tongue
to flint.

Then she will strike
but never bleed again.