“Mama?” Whispered the young girl from her weakness.
“Are you there?” The silence makes sand bleed turquoise.
“Where have you gone? She glides into city’s salt planes.
“Where have you been?” Red paths track radially form sight’s centre.
“Where will you go?” The girl chokes on her vile breath.
“Where can I find you?”

She is alone now, save for the light of lit lamps.
A hazy smog rises above what is clear
and paints the girl black.
A blue-bird flutter:

“Where the Angels doth fly
Is where thy past dost lie.”