the volcanic belt of Vesuvius

Alexa Becker, Poetry Editor

she floats
in
a stagnant river
of gasoline

the holy hour
trains less frequent
breaths rarer
eyes wider

there’s no cross
on my wall
only a nail
waiting

for a purpose
keeps the feet moving
don’t wonder what it is
lest you make waves

take care
don’t be afraid
look up sometimes
nothing matters

she sleeps
soundly
in a stagnant river
of gasoline