She turns away out of the frame, slipping
out of a rough seam, folding laundry into canopies
blotting out first me, then her own hologram
which keeps splitting & splintering off.
She's shifted, she’s brushing the grime
off her white teeth. She doesn't floss.
What's the use now that the shadows
are too wide. As post-war boulevards
releasing light into tunnels. Go quickly.