alas, spring was a time of fakeness
and sally sneezed in sequences
everything swayed with breeze
on the brink of warm and cold were the colors
greens and yellows and ochres
that were pleasing those eyes
red, moist, sore
emblazoned by the dusty air
everything reproduced at a fast rate
au printemps, she remembered
bath absorbed
sally wandered
less direction now
her home near
too familiar now to be satisfying in any way
there she was
when she awoke at noon