She coughs up a sentence,
chokes out the description that’s
been bubbling in her throat lately.
Low, it remains inside her breath –
a story she’s telling herself
as if it were not her own.
She moves through the city in dim light,
murmuring her tale.
Shadows play tricks. Are those hisses?
She sees animals and bodies in the distance.
Once close, it is a wrinkled coat splayed in the road.
A scrap of wet carboard is still.
She moves quickly through the dark blue night.
A whisper.
