This is what she would have thought,
had she thought at all, with her sea-
glass eyes all dry and thick, looking
through another pane of frozen,
globbed-up liquid.
Her hair shivers with static, floats
stiff like feathers and wire. Knuckles like bark.
Fingers like cypress roots, greedy and sucking
and thirsty, always, for more. Hearts
shrivel like the last green onions of October.
