It slides around her like forgotten arms,
a shelter and quiet that stills the voices.
Pills in a rainbow of colors, cupped
in her palm, music playing somewhere,
here or beyond, she does not wonder.
Communion feast of soup and bread,
taken on a small white table
that might have been her knees.
One piece of chocolate saved
to cut the night in two - one dark half
when midnight strikes, one half
when bells inside of her stop ringing.
Insistent grey fallen, color of shadows
bringing a sacrament of sleep,
like prayers in a rainbow of cupped palms.