Sandra - DIED

The wind blew a breeze on her side, cold and blue

While she clicked about on the concrete towards the balustrade

Meeting the Green River each night in secret

Had become a particular fancy she couldn’t come to comprehend

But held to habit, nonetheless, as an impulse without an impulse to combat it

Mechanized to cue

Like the several cordial letters she’d written and scrapped

Because she had nothing left to say to you

Sandra watched the moonrise slowly, mirrored

In the river running by it drowned her mute reflection

Since last springtime, the wanton Ides of March

The fertile treasures of her tender heart had long been heaven spent

And not repaid, for the death of the king didn’t change

The fact that the truth is not merchandise, bought and sold

Nor any longer a warm pair of drunken eyes

Planted in thick skin, rotten root of her love paroled

Finally free, and with nothing left to suffer

Sandra swam the abyss and leaned forward towards the water

The rhythm of her fate, like a timepiece ticking

Rocked her rigidly towards her untimely death

The only witness of the scene, a barter, but a humble man too

Not compromised by his occupation

Said when she gave up her ghost the clouds opened up

And thundered, «don't worry child, I have not forsaken you»