Myrna (von Breitschiestrasse) 

She, the evening's epitome 

at the uneven end of dreams

and meeting's cross of deserted streets.

Solemn, statuesque, 

spotlit neath 

lonely lamp where curve meets damp we met.

She stood where a park should have been,

it struck me then,

amid the portico porch of granite grey

unused for sitting though meant. 

Instead, this distant semidark stare, 

like overextended sidelong glare 

yet straight ahead fixed on nothing 

save vacant road and square of black

opaque as obsidion glass, 

of structure abandoned bleak and bare.

I approached at deepest night, 

teetering in silence plus beer,

booring catlike til just beneath 

the tall smooth pedestal others 

had placed her before me, the gray 

ashen face a dim blank staring 

down by indifferent frown amid 

the throes of history unknown,

body layered in folds of stone, 

unraised left wrist in clutch of nothing's cold fist.

The rock solid heroine only 

I've met and secretly caressed 

til dawn's ritual tears left our earth awet.