Victim #4: The Pregnant Woman by Pierce Marks

We are building up our works again--
The living bringing back to life,
Us dogs lapping up spilled wine.

At one time we had ornamented this world,
But entered into her as nothing;
As an offal pit swept over and become ash,

In which the fertility of spring was rootbound
Throughout our structures negatively cast.
I uncovered the hollows myself; in them

No scent lingered, nor putrefactive stain.
Those who remained were identified by what they lost,
They now nothing but what they were not.

Lifted above the dust where nothing lay,
A serpent, lightning, hissed, snapped and broke fast.
Oh, how long we had wished to drink and stir,

And now how quickly the table was set.
He is drinking with us again;
As the beginning, so our end.