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.
