Because she could not stop for death
He stopped for her briefly in carriage,
Her bundles of poems stacked up in it.
They were immortality,her jessamines
Nightly blooming and their fragrance
Would be a memory mixed with death
In Eden grown with hyphenated moss.
Her hyphens are a stopping for death
Holding up breath to smell jessamines
When he would stop for us in carriage
With bundles of poems stocked up in it.
(remembering Emily Dickinson’s heavily hyphenated poems)