hardly

imagine my body marble. the face of my statue has begun to erode. a chunk of my nose cracked off and broke my toe. little girls come see my statue and place bouquets of dried chrysanthemums in each hand. their hardened bulbs are like cocoons, peeling in the harsh wind, revealing only dead flowers. the clouds above my head have thinned into a pink mist and the city is stuck on the horizon behind me for how long? i wait and let the moss begin to kiss my feet.