Rusalka
1

She walks on I-95
A street woman wrapped
In a pile of muddy scarves,
Or maybe they are snakes
Clinging to her for warmth
Or cold, I do not know.
I try to see her face but
Feel looked at so
I follow her.

2

The new moon hangs empty.
Highway lights
And lightning bugs
Illuminate marsh grass.
The water is blood black
And the lady is stepping
Into...