The night moved, heavy and drenched in sorrow
morning rain settled on the dark road in puddles of black ink,
shuddering with hazy red, amber and green
a tired woman shoulders someone else’s guilt; she feels their hurt for them
an abused woman sleeps on the very edge of her bed, cold, almost falling
a lonely woman breaks the fragile dry spaghetti sticks into the pot of boiling water
the moon looks into austere loveless rooms spilling its silver pool of light,
while night took its last breath.