As quiet as it had been,
I was still unperturbed by it:
Its isolation, its indefiniteness.
The rather calming sounds of
Rock, dirt, and water being displaced
By my shoes' soles echoed
Throughout the desolate park:
A small meadow of snails
Traversing grassy knolls,
Soon-to-be rusty swings
Competing for who the wind
Pushes further;
My hands frozen in my
Pants' pockets.
A woman sat stone cold
Pale-skinned under the rain,
Her sudden form was unreal until
Too late, smoke billowing around her.
Shrouded in darkness she said
I think so, when I asked if she was okay.
A bright moth drunkenly fluttered
2 inches from my self, losing demeanor
I walked away.
