She was the clever curving blade
The apt hand and
Deft finger
The blood soaked stone
The stairs
And the stars
She was the eye-blink moment
Of frozen time
When the dagger point
Rested on the navel
The sweet sick smell
Of death
Hanging in the air

Yes, she was all these things
And more
A clear day in June
With birds singing
But most often...

... She was the blade
Curving slowly