Affaire

It was a bright, hungry day
in a parking lot of any city;
groceries and the wind,
a paper blowing within her mind
like time across the asphalt of morning, spoke.

There could be no dowdy
on her pale skin, a-shiver
as the paper stilled for her,
even as her long multi-colored skirt,
like an anxious kite tethered to her rounded hips,
reacted to the air and lifted shadows
from off the crowded ground.

Pick me up, then fold and crease
to pocket’s precious understanding;
like shells, feathers and rocks,
she heard the sky affirm,
fill this empty space with words.