Letter Lost

Dear Himmel,

Hers grow hereinunder.

Irises swimming in trauma ditch and loss,

Switch. A crag is her Easter,

Latch on. Standing, what if?

Chaplain mentioned something heard:

"Wars itch, we do. Wars, do we itch?"

Pass on the under item.

Her blackened span aground,

Flies die therein. Stabbin’ gibbet, found in fray.

Ire swore to teach, lashed out.

Mindful rude art on

Lid’s perimeter below.

Its stained seal,

Our sins framed,

Lynches sequestered hearts.

Iratest bidden away,

Opened in some.