" DEATH

A woman who dreams of death
Is sitting in her room alone
While the clouds and the stars
That once saw the quiet fumes
Of war
Reach out to grasp one another
And stifle that fire
But the distinct forms
And multitudes
In blurs
Takeoff racing in the earthen boundaries
Never counting
The parts they killed
As they were air-driven
Within the velvet cores of her galaxy "

― Trisha North , Internal Devices: The Faulty Drives Within My Mortal Hardware