Crossing the reservoir in the dead of night,

Looking out over shattered moonshine
glinting and brittle, shallow enough to
draw the eye to the necrotic mass below.
Stagnant, the waters present a freeze-
frame. Remnants held in time, rotting.
[The third day came and went for them]

The causeway marks a dark line, and
in its shadow something paler marks
itself - no brittle gleam hides this organic
shrapnel. A body a face a girl - No Name.
[she washed His feet with her tears]

She was crossing the reservoir in the dead of night,
out too late with the wrong man for too long. Now
the surface steals kisses from lips of stone - parted,
teasing - but her own hair and the weeds hold
her still; her last embrace. Blood snakes from her nose
unchecked.
[and she did eat]

Clenched teeth - perhaps she was cold -
will not speak of final pictures, but
her clothes cling on to those nights out.
[they hid themselves in the garden
for they were naked]

In her eyes the same brittle glint,
same depth which refuses to conceal
the necrotic mass below.
[ashes, and dust]