I once knew a girl who
taught me
that "warrior" is spelled
with a silent "T,"
and that caring is an instinct,
not a burden:
    Time told her that she
     was beautiful,
but she did not
believe it,
for she was broken, and
her body was weary;
she cared about Time,
and, in return,
       He whispered in her ear
       that her heart
       was the highest form
       of beautiful
--but still,
sea salt poured from her corneas
for she did not know
just how much Time
she had left;
so,
out of dust and the salt from her eyes
      Time crafted
       a shield
   to protect her aorta
   and take captive
   her nightmares
  --to catch her dreams--
  for the day that
  Time, Himself,
  would run out.