Setting sun and color dims
Some park and bench from ancient years
Some thousand heads have rested there
On rotted wood and metal.

Rising moon and darkness falls
The withered cane clicks on the walk
The empty purse a ticking clock
'Til tired eyes shut finite.

Countless stars and total night
Her wrinkled soul like body maimed
Her tattooed wrist whose digits named
One jilted grain of sand - sleeps.