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.