A fog, dismissed
by the stove,
of smoke
follows the escaping
brush- led by
it’s trail of ash.
She sleeps, in
the night,
alone
and medicated
in effort to tame
an unspecified deviancy.
In the day, she wakes
to a fog
thick as smoke-
her only indicator
of having complied
with her medication.
She never did wake
one morning.
And no one ever did
bury her-
instead, leaving her
engulfed in her fog,
lungs filled with
smoke,
forever burning.