A flat tire
a broken-down sink
of heat and dark colors
Blowing smudges tinged in promise,
pomp and circumstance long gone.
A blink, an eye, filled with mere seconds
Yet, the snap of the wrist
delivers darkness again.
she walks in patience
along the wilted washed out brush
where an image blurred in ember
will soon tease a rosy flush.
And when the pigment rises,
her children’s laughter, sticky sets.
She’ll know it has everything to do with her
and not a thing to do