He treads along a road of weeds: small, brown stalks
that pull at his ankles and fend for ticks in his legs, although
those rascals burn at his touch and fall
below the bottom of the earth. And he leans down,
his back bends into a gentle embrace,
he breaths and drags his sleeve across her arms.
His colors are stained red: a thick, warm layer of solitude.
She tried to reach up to him as he came but
she was too heavy
until he was above her, folded her into his chest
and headed back down below.
She breathed a sigh of relief
and Death remarked
on how he had never felt a girl so light.