tying ribbons of storm in her hair

 three's nothing to sneeze at
flesh body spirit. wind moves
across  diagonal intentions
like a dead cell phone.

she saved these few from the last front.
pretended they were meant for special occasions
like forgotten  blue roses or trains on time.

she finds you now in pieces across the web
or was that  a web composed of pieces. her hair
was lost to chemo, the storm was another child

growing old and the ribbons were remnants
from your eyelashes.  she ties them together-
a caul for valentines day.