Leaning against a city wall, `
marking indifferent time with a cigarette,
night lurking in the gutters,
her hurt a harsh slit across her throat,
snow clung about her like crystal meth,
something invisible dying inside her.
Her sin tireless as the setting sun,
chained by her eternal torment,
an exile on Main Street,
she fell gently on her back
and swept her arms and legs
back and forth, until a snow angel
appeared, rising to her feet
she watched shadows climb out
of the gutters to open a wound,
carried in the arms of a snow angel
up into her crystal sky.
