spread across the floor
as spilt as milk
naked and arcane
akin to death
it felt wrong, this restructuring
of self, around the absence
of without who she was
indefinite
petals without stem
in water without glass
and when he appeared
seldom as sun
she angled toward him
withered and starved
hated this trying
to coalesce
from disparate states
of distress and doubt
she heard drums
and wondered once what they were
they sounded a tide
sorrow swelling in a sea too choked to flow
with ebb and with eddy it beat subtly steady
down the door she was trying to pass through
