rests upon his cross at the zenith,
casting his shadow over walls
the color of Scolecite needles, of ivory, of
whitewash. The sea carrying breeze cannot
mask the scent-marked, faded, blue checked sheets.
White Coat prognoses do not bend like scoliosis
backbones; there will be no daybreak, no
sun against her cheek, no warmth to wake the flowers
drowning in their vessels.