“If only I could have water.”
Thin sheets pulled over her eyes --
Raging sunlight burning their soft membranes.
No more tears to wash her face.
She tried moving her hand, futile.
Focusing on the tale unfolding around her,
It was a story she was no longer interested in.
Fresh sunrise glazed her vision with white light,
She ascended her pain.
“How long have I drifted through this purity?” –
“How long has he been there?”
She wanted to question her visitor,
But no medium for communication.
Her name echoed,
No discernible tone.
Her response came intuitively:
“Am I dead?”