vicinity

you sink
a semiplume
pruned, plucked
and floating through
the atmosphere
landing gently
in her hair
discarded from
the raptors
circling above
the detritus of the vicious

the world covers her
in greens and blues
and from
her fingertips
drips
petrichor dreams
that clean away
the salt water stench of
persistent tears

still lost
but in the vicinity
of hope

that once was