—Emily Dickinson

1. Death is a dialogue between The spirit and the dust. “Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit, “Sir, I have another trust.”

   Death doubts it, argues from the ground. The Spirit turns away, Just laying off, for evidence, An overcoat of clay.

2. By a flower — By a letter — By a nimble love — If I weld the Rivet faster — Final fast — above —

   Never mind my breathless Anvil! Never mind Repose! Never mind the sooty faces Tugging at the Forge!

3. Glass was the Street — in tinsel Peril Tree and Traveller stood — Filled was the Air with merry venture Hearty with Boys the Road —

   Shot the lithe Sleds like shod vibrations Emphasized and gone It is the Past’s supreme italic Makes this Present mean —