A gentle breeze blew inside her
And played with a single leaf — only her smile.
Everyone loved her smile.
She loved no one.
She remained alone with her invisible sand,
Losing even that single leaf.
“Infinity,” she said,
“Is the fourth wall of our loneliness, not a shelter.”
She stayed unmarried, grew old, never became a statue.
Scholarly in her purity, from dawn on,
Winter to summer, she swept far down the alley.
Then one day she was photographed there with her broom,
Somewhere on the street, in front of a stranger’s door.
And that photo
Was all that remained of that breeze and her smile.
