You can make faces in the case: hollow
a pair of eyes, blot a bulbous nose,
and mimic a mouthy-wide smile
all with your index finger.

The hooves of stuffed horses rear up;
their manes and tails frozen in a cascade,
as if they want to slash their way through
the glass sheet and take off into the night.

Threads join the spokes of the wheels
together to form a silk pattern
a mix of spiderwebs and dust.
You can just make out the innards

of the carriage where she sat
skirts sprawled across the cushions
a plush bed of faded velvet
where dust mites lounge.

A golden frame circled her face
when she’d look out of the window.
Gilded cherubs veiled in thick dust-
screens. They kept her safe once.