She thinks of fractures;
a series of dawns
outside planks,
their warmth captured in
fleeting
shafts of twilight.
She thinks of pictures,
and she is stilled
in split-second
splices of time.
Her story is told in pictures,
fractures
of an ever-changing present
carefully weaned
from someone's aging memory.
Her audience
will keep looking for a context,
some box to hold the shafts in.
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