Unwell

Faithful to the fable
which has a god living in the sun's vice
she turns her eyes to the crisscross of leaves,

She's in no position to refuse the pain
keeping vigil between heart and shoulder.

Like gravel on a road
where the chippings have reached an understanding
slowly
among themselves
her body adjusts to a new incantation
of stone and tree
in the corridors of her blood where a burn does its rounds.