Pock-sopped white and trembling, forever frozen. Is she me, is she you?
Sometime visitor to this stream.
She calls out repeatedly during the night, ferried here and there by the stranded dream in which she is forever caught. The witness passes by the side of the road calling away ....
Each time she comes to stand beside me I am frozen and screaming. Draw breathe into my lungs as she crosses. Coming to life in the stream of traffic as the image of Hilary steps out into the dusty summer day to another hit.
The carney caller and bright light shine of another.
