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