Dusk; sky bleeding violet and tangerine; sun setting, beneath the horizon.
The wheat field, expansive, endless, below; stalks swaying in the breeze.
((WILL


I FIND




MY DEAR






...







Russell?))

Neither here,
Nor there,
But beyond

Past the chipped fence, rotting
The army of a thousand corpses
Adorned with cobwebs
Reduced to splintered bones
((MY DEAR...



Russell?))

The dark circles
The bites
The scratches
Sallow flesh
Faded hair


fluttering in the breeze

Without him
She is nothing;
She remains
Standing at the clearing
Staring beyond her world
Waiting

Waiting



Waiting