Refugee

She waited.
In rain; in the rudimentary sharp reflectionsv of just-before-dusk,

she waited,
rubber booted, her good, warm coat
turned up at the collar,

the familiar
headscarf covering her hair,
tightened at her throat,

its coarse knot
squeezing her every breath
to tethered clouds.

She waited
as the cold sunk into her,
trembling like a waif,

despite the western
burnish of the dying day
charging the eye

with its pretense of warmth.
She waited,
first outpost of the night,

hugging her bag,
as if to reassure herself
of affection.

She waited,
like a ghost, burning and drowning
at the same time.