Tailors' dummies look with unseeing eyes
Through the windows on their sides
At the street that once was flat.
Grey rubble from the last explosion
Piled on grey rubble from the first,
And all the blood is somewhere else.

Buildings jut through the street
Like broken teeth through blackened gums;
And right in the middle of them she stands,
Like a mannequin and without seeing eyes.
How long she has been waiting there the tailors' dummies know;
The blind can sense the blind when there is quiet enough.
The dust on her fair face has turned it old and haggard as she's wept.
How long will she keep waiting there? How long?
The others left her, seems like days ago
When she refused to go before I came.

And now I see her standing there
Alone and waiting.
Alone and waiting, sure that I will come.
Footsteps over
Turned over
Asphalt and worked over
Reach her ears and tilt her head towards the sound…

Only sightless eyes can see her now
And blessed, those
Who cannot see I did not come.
And she, with hands upraised, will perish there
For want of a kiss upon her face,
For lack of arms around her.
And still, still, and much quieter than death,
They watch her wilt away into
The non-embrace of fantasy.
I've questioned death so many times,
Is it pretty there?
Do they kiss her?