Dreams tumble from her fingertips
as if they never existed, hands turned
to gravel from year after year of
mopping up hope with a ravaged rag.
She breaks into pieces on a ramshackle bed,
plunges into anguish, sweeping through
caverns that erupt with echoes of
fitful sleep and years lived in squalor.
She burns and melts into reverie, cascading
over memories trapped in grit and pitch.
Struggling against the fingers of delusion,
she explodes out of madness and flows
gracefully into the mouth of salvation,
pulled into the belly of sustenance and bone.