Sony a7Iv // Nikon 105mm f/2.5

1. Burial: Spring is the time of hope and renewal
   but you told us that April can be cruel.
   That was the month that claimed her,
   my sister Jo Ann Marie; a light turned off. 
   Heimat. Home. Homeland. Habitat. 
   Images flicker across the screen:
   broken, shattered, and in a heap. 
   Heimat und Ödland. Gott im Himmel!
   The cards are wild and wicked, and
   now, the eternal city seems unreal. 
2. Game: Life is a game of chess, with
   pawns scattered hither and yon.
   In the darkened room, I see an
   empty throne and a candelabra 
   on a dusty mantel beside a stuffed 
   nightingale: what Shakespeare could pen for such
   a setting on the Moor. Good night. Sweet night!
3. Fire: Those who have departed, some barely
   before their lives were started, they belong
   to the angels and the nymphs. Narin, Narin!
   Within a river, but not the Thames, a
   sweet angel found her wings.
   Leave the ancient rattle of bones to others.
   Les voix des enfants. Mon Dieu, les enfants! 
   Outside the city, this city of the unreal
   we board a barge bound for Carthage.
4. Death: From the whirlpool to the deep sea, the die was cast;
   faces were turned windward, and the wheel was held fast.
5. Thunder:  Prison and palace are one and the same, but shells;
   they hint at the ruins, wrecks, and earthly, private hells.