by Brendan Strong
She comes in the day,
In jeans and quotidian care marking the shapes of her face
That marks everyday that she says she wants to escape.
I ask her about her way, and how she is and how it is going.
I dream of seeing her in the night.
She comes in the night
In a dress and make up that mark the lines drawn by a magazine
That marks this escape of her life: Night.
I say nothing.
I wonder where the beauty is.