Buried beneath a bird's
shrieks, she lies supine,
one long thin arm
stretched over a yellowed
sheet, wrapped in all
that old warped skin.
She gazes between
drapes hung damply
wrinkled by wind's
frenzy. Trees taunt
with lush leaves,
a memory she reaches
to grasp and cannot
quite reach, held down
by a yellowed
sheet and a green
bird's shrill shrieks.
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