and then she’s running down the middle of the road
in her bare feet in the rain, and the sky is cracking
open and calling her name in a language she sudden
-ly understands. And her hands are wrapped around
her center, holding herself together, holding herself
to gather what’s left of herself. And she knows it’s up
there somewhere, that next step. That next day. That
next way to do and be and say all the things that may
make it all (go away) stay. But for now the sky’s a rough
draft, a preposterous laugh in the general direction of
all she’s lost. All she’s tossed away. All she’s cost the play
on words and the play of light on sheeted streets. She sleeps.
Written for poetic asides November chapbook challenge.