Sitting on a stained dock
Amidst the four winds
Is the figure of a woman.
Have you seen her before?
Her dark locks lifeless
As her body sits frozen.
Her white dress stained
With red.
The color of blood.
The color of love.
Her aged feet are cold.
Dead is her soul.
She lives, but she lives not
In the present.
The smell of the salt
Emanating from the lake.
What is she doing?
She sits.
Comatose.
Her head bows in humility
Towards the dark water.
Her face not discernible
She hides in her tresses.
But why would she--
Her long gray fingers
Clasping a simple string
The color of air.
A balloon is floating
Amidst the four winds
The color of ruby.
The color of lips.
It has been time
Since she had seen
The color of love.
With a swift budge
She finally stands
How cold, how white,
How silent her hands!
Her dark curls
Sway in the frigid wind
With one wistful move
She lets go.
The red balloon
Is red no more.
And as I blink,
The woman
Looks at me.
Her face is not there.
I scream.