klara[dot]nz

Down the river she swept, 16.

Three days then on the shore.

Intentional. Identifiable.

A singular act, a final call,

To a world deaf to the sirens.

Mother kneeling beside,

With cut-flower sound,

A great disappointment.

Still, she sleeps,

Eats, and breathes as before.

Friends, family ready to hear

"Children go like that,

At random, these days -

Or pushed to it

By others -

No different from

A Tuesday rain".