that day something in the sky

wasn’t quite right.

muddy-fielded February

left footprints across the threshold,

lost herself in waves and eddied reflections,

drew in dry breath

and scoffed at anthropomorphism;

looked up at the sunny sixty-degree sky

and shrugged.

something wasn’t quite right,

her insentient shadow fallen grotesquely

without consideration for rhythm or aesthetic

and so turning her back without consideration

of turning back

from uncertainty, from darkness

she walked.