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)

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