She Is
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.
It once made love to her
and still aches to enfold her,
to seed her again with
its time-buried starshine.
In this concrete thoroughfare
with its crawling steel, blind windows,
and metaled carapaces,
she is Eve.
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