The Time that held her Still

The musk of rotting walls

laced with web and dust

and ivy's fresh green

wet dark by fog

A blue dress,

the hem a scythe-whisper

across grass and weed.

Alabaster fingers

bruised by brick.

Fear runs, tracking blood

in its wake and wash

of flowers, closed, but

waiting.

Hands, white, gripping stone,

pulling,

wanting.

Sunlight, pulled under the mist water

drowning...

Time

white and bruised as the fingers which

claw the walls, crumbling

slips its hands between her breasts

to hold

her heart still.