and the shards in history remember the age. there's mud on the ground and glass. she was run down. hid from the dreams she held. hard to keep inside. what is she looking for? see her body and you believe the blues. her photograph. now submerged in winter's totem of ice which constantly is melting into gray mirrors that you so avidly avoid looking at directly. "why?," you whisper. one eyebrow slightly contracts as you swallow and fold your arms against your body. it's been years. she's been gone. you're always empty.