If they were in love, they would never admit it.
Silent grey buildings, with their peeling paint
and rusted railings, shutters hanging open
staring like half-dead Cyclops, were the sole
keepers of secrets.
He followed her at night, or so she was told later.
"When and why and for how long?"
Words never breathed and so never answered.
The morning mist curled around her lazily,
ghostly fingers lingering on bare ankles.
She was making her way
one foot at a time
toward the rushing water.
The dirty Detroit River -
no splendid sight at sunrise,
sunset,
or any time in between.
It wasn't much of anything, but she was swept away.
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