10 am and the sky is already
a billowing night ocean;
Dirty patches of clouds, layers
of tasseling grey, like a worn-out dress
that embarrasses every seamstress.
I come to the patio for fresh air.

And there she is, my reclusive neighbor,
rummaging slowly through flowerpots.
Withered marigolds and daisies clutch
at her feet. Her body, thin paper-cut
pressed onto the parapet and trembles slightly.
Then the wind comes, tussling
with the loose ends of her hair.
I’m thinking of a leaf on troubling water.
She sees me and carefully tucks them
behind her ears.

Suddenly the daily routine of the city
breaks like thunder,
She withdraws into her little room,
waddling; the cold air rattles
with each of her tiny steps.

I nod to her, the only one here today,
the only companion
among cars and bikes that rush
towards the falling sky, lacking much
of ceremony.

She smiles back to me,
her eyes gleaming distantly,
like a sea.