Sleepwalking
She’ll lay down in the shade,
let the coolness wash her
while sunspots filter through her eyelashes
making blurs in her vision.
She’s slipping.
Eyes like oceans with pink sand
embedded in
paper and grainy lines.
She spilled her tea in the dirt.
She’s watching it steep there for minutes.
She hopes the flower
that makes earl grey
grows there.
She’s not the same.
Color has seeped out of her lips
and into her hair.
Holding on to her
is like shaking hands with
the slowest river-
It’s tired.
She’s tiring too.
She’s sinking.
Water is good for the grass,
but not the girl in it.
She’s fading,
like black and white TV.
Hang the night sky
so that every star is an airplane.
She’s floating
like a half-deflated helium balloon
with the string cut.
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