shifting

in january
she switched to graveyards
and now she moves through
empty streets –
in her waking world,
the city has only
a handful of occupants:
video store workers, some
late night janitors, security
guards, gas station attendants
peering out from behind
bullet-proof glass

some months in, she has
difficulty remembering what
the day was like with all it’s people,
and when she is confronted with it
(on the odd occasion) she finds herself
feeling squeezed in an unfamiliar fashion,
all the surrounding bodies in the sun
like many hands around her arms and legs,
a pressing on her rib cage

nocturnalized, she dreams when we wake
of her eyes becoming small, black and reflective,
of thick fur growing on her shoulders