Waiting

empty streets,
a lone tavern light
seared the mist,
even stars
that whispered in her closed eyes,
dissolved in the dark;

he found her
sunbeams round her throat,
the blunt knife
in her hand,
still bleeding on the table,
her final poem.

Linked to MLM where the prompt is for a Shadorma Pair inspired by Van Gogh’s Cafe Terrace at Night