That girl

She is full of laughter and a terrible grief
for the gag ripped
from the world's mouth,
for the flesh stripped
from the world's bones.

She keeps missing
the chance to be understood.
Alone she goes
seeking in mirrors
the colours of love.

I saw her wandering
in tawny dusk
with golden skin
and honey-dew eyes
grinning at the butterfly
that blew between
the billboard and the flowering weed.

I swear I saw that girl before
clutching a towel
in a freezing hall,
her hair trussed up
in tattered bands

with naked feet
and a tear-stained dress
scrambling along
the slender ridge,
straining to reach
a plastic spoon.

I swear I saw that girl again
lying in clover
by the olive grove.

I knew her by her whispered song
mimicking the bird call
tone for tone.