If there comes a time
that you might lose me
Find me in my poetry

she sits in front of her window,
absentmindedly staring at the people below.

she's cold.
so, so, cold.

how many years has it been since her death?
she doesnt know. no one does.

she's so lonely.
everyone's forgotten her.

poor little dead girl.

i do not believe in god
but i do believe in poetry
and for me
maybe poetry is prayer
and the universe
is an unwavering ear
in the shape of a god