A young woman sits in the center
of a room.
She is not waiting.
The walls of the room enclose
a space.
It is not empty,
there is a woman sitting on the floor.
Her hair is brushed, black foam,
her eyes are warm reflections,
her lips are silent, sound and shape.
The room is quiet.
She has not been crying.
She wears a smooth cotton dress,
full at the shoulders,
low below the neck.
It conceals the gentle curve of hip,
the bend of knees,
suggesting flesh in flows
of woven rapids,
to still lace pools upon the floor.
Her hands play in folds of cloth
like bears fishing glacial streams.
She is not afraid.
The room is dark.
You cannot see her.
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