She never carried the thought through

only allowing it
to thread into the parted weave of tomorrow

Her hands are plaster
brittle walls
whiting out horizons.

She listens to her mother
nagging into the phone
the words rebounding against deniel
to spin away
break apart
and fall
lessened and distorted onto the carpet
at mothers house.

Later
she will strip down
to yesterday
draw the silver thread of a river
around her shoulders
and await the shiver of dawn