So mistaken

she looks frightened, wan

a blank face, and dull

no understanding (like a peasant)

no response (a smacked-out hooker)

one

person emptied bleak

alone and

nothing in the world can make this right

Patagonia

iceflint fear

 

Life, more or less – more often

less – a desolate chill

remote

this is nowhere

she knows

she’s nothing, lichen on a rock

but if

still saying nothing

she just sits

and smiles the next time

life will go on

still clinging

much as before