Transparent shapes roll across her eyes
while she stretches out her back and
reaches upward with her arms like there
was something precious dangling above her.
Damp missing puzzle pieces swell into soft
caricatures of their former selves and no
longer fit in with the rest of them.
We suppose they could be dried off on the
window sill, but we don’t try to stave off
the inevitable.
A dog in the back alley chews callously
at a purple sore on the fold between its leg
and its groin while an old woman watches from
the plastic chair she keeps by her door.
Eventually, it bursts.

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