Balsamic Vignettes #3

#3
Sits,
Teeters on the edge of her bench
oblivion
In a room where the curtains billow into the hallway while the tea light candle
sits.                                               Still.
In a station where the train passes on through express to somewhere
[or nowhere in particular].
Counting the minutes until the sun rises
Being well aware of the hours left before the dawn chorus of
rosellaskookaburraswarblerswrenshoneyeaters
Before the city pulse beats again.

She breathes
not as deeply as she should
and waits
only moving to scratch at a mosquito or bite [perhaps]
closes her eyes to see only the same darkness as that which settles around her
~like a midnight persian, settling by the fire
~like the clouds on a moonless night over a field.
Begins to dream of a walk towards the horizon [only to find another].

Yet the lunar cycle pushes away the moonless night to reveal a full moon
And a breeze from a change in season rushes ahead of an approaching train
Causing the candle to flicker briefly.
Not a phoenix from the ashes
Nor a butterfly from a chrysalis
Her metamorphosis congress from when she burrows deep in hiding, underground, safe from civilization, sauntering into the darkness to
Shed
Her
Skin
Upon returning to the surface,
A new skin
A new beast.

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