her face down-turned : these days.
coffee strained eyes. cried the color out a few months ago.
new greyed view doesn’t suit her.
left a letter draft: sits, waiting
to be sent in five , six
, million years . can’t close the
matter right off?
quiet slogan , printed worn
to defend white
shirts she wears , still , every time.
life spilt errywhere’ , of circumstance , born
so , see.
and when there’s no step backwards ,. every. one we
tentatively spoor ahead.