Her grave, but no bones.
Specks of color, no sound.
Fragments of records, chiefly
commerce and law.
Before they went into the weaving room
with the other girls for the day, Nummis-ri
showed Nummis-tet what was in her hand:
an eggshell, thin freckled ivory,
broken only at one end,
the size of an olive. The dove that laid it
must have bled on the altar already.