Forever Eve
A dry wind lifts a damp fringe of
gray hair.
She is wrinkled,
her mouth sunken
over dentures.
She's as thin as dust
but glows
on the edge of her ruin.
The earth aches.
to seed her again with
a long-buried star-shine.
In this concrete thoroughfare
with its cold blind windows,
she is ever fertile
she is Eve.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2023
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