She takes them in — their lives abandoned,
exiled, interrupted. She swallows their bodies

into her cold wet recess, their feet bound
in gold and orange, their thighs lost in

a pink blue sunset. Tongues of the elders
line her womb in welcome. She drowns

their fears, stifles the cries for the not-yet-born,
not-yet-met, not-yet-finished. They will not fall

her way, for she will lure them, lull them, then
enfold them in the water of her endless lap.