A lonely lost bird sings on the washing line, sings so loudly, but there is no one to hear its song.
She, Alice, sat for a day and a half waiting, but no one came.
The sweet sadness of the lost bird’s song, permeated through the soil, the small root bound trees, the cold concrete, the breezeblock walls.
She, Alice, eyes swollen with un-cried tears, lashes weighted with the sleepiness only the heart broken know, slumps forward onto the cold concrete.
Both present in the same garden, at the same time, but unable to see each other.
Time moves, but loss stays still.