The fog came for the moon,

pearl and full, gray swallows white

turning ochre, half

risen. From the road, eyes

pull at distance, her body traffics

in pain, wonders how long

bone takes to finish cracking, so

fine, as thin, she thinks someone

will eventually stop her, the slap

of sense put broken back together. Hand

over hand climbs the ladder again, finds

a rooftop and trees closer, reaches

for the arms of the wind

hold without catching, sky stays for hours.