Found: two boxes of wigs in my tomb
and a stash of makeup; considering my rain-
soaked sail to the other side, you assume
a queen needs to freshen up.  But no, I changed
looks to slip by unknown in last century’s hair style
and dated powder shades like bronze and clay.
You’ve seen my “death mask” in the museum’s Nile
wing by an artist I hired myself.  Pray,
do I look dumb or weak? When you stared
into my black-winged eyes, weren’t you first to blink?
Taking flight is my talent. Let Death play solitaire,
or else play with you his eternal, stinking
game of boredom. That’s not for me. I’m everywhere
and nowhere, which is why you found my casket bare.

From The Hudson Review