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This fragment condenses the surrounding pages into stark lines about death, a belated glimpse of grace, and a handwritten afterimage of knife and stone.

The page reads almost like notes toward a larger poem. The handwritten continuation pulls the angel line back toward bodily threat, though the final handwritten words carry some uncertainty.

A short page headed 'The cloth that tries to tie things up,' condensing the surrounding pilgrim-and-death material to a few stark lines: 'Reguardless of appearance, / or any arrangement for death / We see a napsack, a preist, / never say I haven't seen / an angel until today' (the typed spellings 'Reguardless,' 'napsack,' and 'preist' preserved). Then a handwritten continuation yanks the grace line back toward threat: 'You knarl for a knife / Like a crab on a stone'. The note-like brevity makes it read as a pocket draft, the angelic glimpse undercut by a sudden bodily, almost violent image. Both handwritten readings, 'knarl' and 'stone', carry some uncertainty.