She collected coins
shining each one
one by one
right before sleep

she would soak them
in groups of ten
in a milk-white liquid on the windowsill
everything happened on the windowsill
she couldn't hang a shelf
for the life
of her

the dirt and grime,
silver and nickel
sadly, ended up in her sheets
and in sleep
would make it's way to her skin

morning came
each day
every day
and lit up the cluttered sill,
all her belongings,
and her skin
grimy
with silver
and nickel and dirt

the morgue called
and wanted me
to identify
the body

they took me out to
the greenery
and dirt
and picnic tabled park
where we had met

they led me across the grass
pinned on the earth
with rusted charcoal grills

and there she stood
cold and still
in the 70 degree heat

her nickel
and copper hair
frozen, blowing
gracefully
forever