She couldn’t find it, broken underfoot,
Her distended skin splatters out the matter
Onto the yellowed doilies left scattered behind.
A ghostly whisper splinters through her
Severed cord cooling the breath upon her
Hot jewel-beaded skin.
Walk low
Through the broken glass door,
Expel the bitter ash of your
Singed lungs.
The free-spirited willow begins
To grip the earth below.
Walk until
You find the old boat with
Minnows dipping in and
Out of its flaky hole
Morphing the water into
Jellyfish blooming with rust.
That autumn the
Tissue-paper cast of her body
Floated through the trees
While an abandoned tire-swing
Spins.
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