Hypoxia

She wears magic on her eyelids
as she burns april,
thinking less, loving less.
the great paragraphs of cloudless skies,
the small falls after two meetings,
the unavoidable things hidden in
"Our Father, Who art in heaven"
(nothing matters more after
learning how to controll fire)

1,2,3,4,5,6
& he is not a frog anymore.
(who is he?)
she is exhausted.
the dice rolls again.
high heels, no lipstick,
short hair, sacred pain.
after all these years she has nothing
even herself.
but she holds her breath every time
she sees it, her trachea dying,
her diaphragm fainting,
no air at all
& he's there, his smile too:
his framed yellow smile.

karla b