Not much
on weepy lines
overripe rind
of feeling left too long—
words that swell
then sink

She's something else—
no wistful sighs
no hands wrung dry
just a sharp look
spine-straight
with flint-bright eyes

Watch—
how the light
bends around her
how silence
sits up straight
in her company

Not much
on drivel—
no
but she's something else—
makes me quiet and watch