she is the dew left behind
from a night of wandering.
Agnes waits for the alarm to wake
an early morning miracle.
she is the mist on the mirror;
deflated lungs – the fog lifts,
but the spirit is down.
she is the tear along the cheek;
salty seas trailing ragged ridges.
she is the angel in my closet, flesh fading.
butwhoeverdrinks 