Hair sings a nebula
to the moon of her face.
Fibril hands serenade
saddened, charred metal.
From her ears float
the Transcom wires--
severed from a life of words.
Black-iced blood
in darker notes spirals
from blued skin.
Squeezed in frozen grasp
she arcs an ellipse.
Calliope sings her death song,
silent harmony to space.

On Spec first published

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