She waits for someone to call

but there are no windows 

in the cool,

icicles scrub her hair

and there is no reflection but frost and grass

in the window 

which is not there

even the shadows have lost their flavor

it would be so nice 

to wrap her heart 

around another’s song 

her soul snags

on a bit of branch

twangs like a lone twig

a tuning fork

cries out to heaven