she wandered on the shores
of the deep deep lake
mirror waters
and a high high mountain range
swimming backwards, lazily
under her feet, dead leaves,
rustling like maracas,
reminding her of Rio
and the thirteen Samba lessons
she had taken back in ‘62
that’s all there is,
she thought:
lake, mountain, trees,
all passionate,
yellow, red, and orange,
and a blue autumn vault
she stretched out an arm,
scratched the sky with the diamond
of her wedding ring,
and through the crack, she saw
stars, and black,
and more memories,
undead and sore