while others dream
she lies
curled in her shell
a snail of underwear and eyelashes
with each blink
the blue glow shimmers on her eyes
reflecting a calm sea
that used to know fire

but where is the tempest?
where did the
grasping groping clutching
fingers lose their way through her hair
they were supposed to arrive by now
while the figures wait
shrouded and distant
at the bus stop

is it possible to light a match that has already burnt out?