If she could accept being this small,
hiking down a suburban sidewalk
alongside a six-lane

street. If she

could outrun the heavy
breathing, the footfall
on a semi-plowed

trail miles and days ago.
If she could decide
which way to go.

The bus lane: ruby or rose.
The enormous sculpture
of a rooster: cobalt or bruised.

The snow: bleached or ash.
Those tree trunks: silver or copper,
Shriveled drupes that refuse

to fall from a shrub
she cannot identify: umber
or rust. Dried blood on an animal

she cannot name:

maroon

or midnight. If she could

turn around

just once

to meet herself.