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.