Lot’s Wife

 

 

 

There are eight treading foot falls

pounding

pounding

down in these boards

that home my brain

 

Ten when that lofty

little soul comes along

 

I picture

the world won’t slow down

when my demise hits

 

It will fast forward

through scenes of you and her

and three little gifts

like those wise men

 

But I shall become like stone

a salt pillar called Ado

before those instances occur

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