Bits of the body migrate: bone dust
      from the crematorium, gasses
Leached from graves. But in the body
      itself, there is other breakage. The journey
Through that labyrinth is perilous.
      There are stations. None passes
Declares the angel with a sword of flame
      at the duodenum’s portal. But the great
Black gate of the heart stands open.
            Enter, particle, and begin.  end