For one day, I returned,
a poisoned spider straggling
to the center of its web.
It matters how you die
and where. There are good
lives, those who persevere
the quick, dreadless passing
from skin to earth; all that's
holy rises to the surface.
I've gathered what I can,
the broken shells scattered
on a morning's shore and
better still, left them there,
clinging to the sands.
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