Eyes shine bright like streetlights against
The brisk air of October;
She is the caryatid of the night.
But the veins of the city have long been abandoned,
No more circulation to revive the stillborn pigments of her skin.
And so she cries a brittle tear immediately
Frosted by the breath of the night,
Staining her granite skin,
Can’t seem to lift her beaten anchor
And sink it into the cornucopia of being,
Lavished with daisies prepared to drain her salted rain.