Pulls her hood up, warm
and private, curls a hand around
her head, tips forward, to write,
a life, a story, scenes from a
drama of perfect being, Green
Tara in Woolworths / in library.
sandwich, standing, oblique,
walls are damp, powdery.
I’m in her eyes, looking.
I can hardly see – this city dust
– a moment to decide
which voice to listen to.