I think the last six lines of Sam Gwynn's "Body Bags" are one of THE exemplary sonnet endings, ever, ever, especially the last 2 1/2 lines. He makes the turn, sews it up, and shuts it down in a way that seared those lines into my refuses-to-memorize brain:
...The piece of chalk
Splinters and flakes in fragments as I write,
To settle in the tray, where all the dust is.
Robin
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