Exactly unlike crystal

a lady walks by
at seven thirty
every day

she's dressed in shades of sun bleached lichen
carrying a plastic shopping bag

her styrofoam bright hairdo
immovable
despite the morning breeze

everything so arbitrary
but incredibly precise
-in almost every way
it's exactly unlike crystal

life spills
from the magpies’ chatter
as the morning lady turns the corner
into other streets

it soaks the early autumn
of my skin and bones
watching from their concrete box
stiff from slightly overthinking

it all depends on everything
and in the end?
-but nothing ever ends

man there ain’t even a beginning

(an earlier version)