the marble people stare not at you,
behind you, not at anyone in particular.
hunched, and clutching their glasses, thirst unquenched

there aren’t many of them now,
originally, there were thought to be thousands,
breathing quietly among us,

after the man has paid dowry for our daughter,
i turn to her and whisper,
“i think i’ve lost my spirit,
misplaced it, otherwise it flew from me,
escaped through my mouth while I was sleeping.
it slipped through the barely lit crack of parted lips