Midnight in St Lucie

She listens to Dylan when she's struggling, though most think it's something from the
heroine-soaked 90s

Most of the time, she's graceful
about it, she waits
until the sun sinks far below
the horizon and decent people
are sleeping

It's just her, the crickets, and the soft,
forgiving light of the moon
Remnants of vodka exhaled in the sweet smoke of the day’s last cigarette…
maybe just one more

The glow of a forgotten light switch
casts a shadow that stretches further
than her courage can
and she breaks again interrupting
the sounds of natural evening existence

Un-returned messages bring thoughts
that she might not be alone tonight
Somewhere, hundreds of miles north, a kindred spirit courses through her veins

Please let her be okay
Let me feel okay