There rings a woman in bronze. 
Form frozen in hesitant beauty. 
For all to taint. 

She holds herself. 
Ruins drift closer. 

Behind her a grassy road. 
Lush for tortured soles. 

Full of disuse. 

Me here on American asphalt. 
Sparkling. 
Dazzling visitors. 

Stay for our comfort. 

Me here. 

With seasoned whispers. 

Time creeps and rushes past. 


She watches. 
I wait. 

Collect tin cups. 
Stain my fingers with faded ink.