the river made the air
so much colder as she stood
on the bridge
the kind of cold you need
when you are

this numb

there exists an ethereal beauty
sewn into the bleak canvas
of the winters here

but she's spent so much time
in this place
that the place has spent her
with it

& she's misplaced all the
colors she needs to
add life


she clutches to black
as it seeps into
her palm

& says "not yet, death...


'tis the storm
before the
calm."