She, of the winter’s night

waits
back pressed against a brick wall
holding onto rolled up newspaper
in sweaty hands
eyes barely open to see
lingering
languishing
pausing breath
so that she might watch
in the cool of winter
as she breathes clouds
entire atmospheres
entire skies
overlooking an imagined place
or readl
for the few instants
they hang

on some nights
they hang long enough for her to imagine
they’ve become a part
of her world

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