Kate Moss practices meditation

A Poem by Anon ymous.

Once she opens her eyes it will be all over.

A small brown bird sits on the sill, next to geraniums.
Believing is art.

An unfinished painting leans against the wall.

She folds her hands together.
The wind passes over in a trance.

She says it is cruel to capture fireflies, steal their light.

Her lips are dry, a leaf flutters then falls;
she curses it, but never out loud.

She is unrepentant.