Soft brush strokes
On the oil canvas
Barely visible
Barely there
Just like her,

Like moon
Hidden behind dark
clouds
Face a half,
Hair curtained

Laughs and snorts
Cynical and not
Pebbles and rocks
Dirty socks
Dirty mocks

Scars and marks
Hidden a half
Trembling hands
Shaking heads
Her

Shed tears do not
It's the drought
What else is there
Sand clock stops
Time is up

Whisper
to the light
Shadows on the
street
stay do not

For it is the
drought
The end of times
Regret not
She's all well

Well
At least for now
While the sand
stops
Time is up