black, white, red reflections, her umbrella up, she can't see a horizon
but she can feel the wind cutting through her coat, threadbare, worn, filled with
yards of cloth, the rain hasn't cultivated sprouts of rooted cool from,
the hem of her dress, swaying in the breeze
she looks down and tries to focus on repetition, but cannot
seem to find her rhythm
like jazz music with a beat, her feet dance along
but there is nowhere to dance anymore, not after the song stopped, not after
she walked away
the same old tune plays in her head, she lets it play
#ello #poetry @ello @ellopoetry
