with each strand
she finds
on the pillow

or sink

with each lash that curls
around a finger
with each

expression that won’t
appear because the brow
won’t furrow

or arch

with each void
she enters
with each secret she can’t

keep

any longer
with each song
she knows

how to sing
inside that void
with each face

she remembers
having—some saved
some not

with each chaotic
dance beneath
all the stars she can’t

see

in the urban night
with each sip
of coldness craved afterward

with each pink sky
dawn breaking over century-
old brick apartment buildings

with each palm
open she reaches
up and over resolved