Strolling (another revision)

She strolls alone
bundled in a fraying peacoat,
eyes scattered toward the ground
and peeking above scarf-folds,
the flagged ends dangling down
past her knees. She strolls alone,

the city night a familiar hallway,
and imagines people living in the abandoned
apartment buildings and townhouses she passes,
giving each one a character, a family
sitting together in portraits
she mentally hangs in mosaic
along the walls of the night: star-strung and black.

She strolls alone and new blocks
become new wings as she builds
a slow-growing mansion for her
slow-growing gallery. She strolls alone,

the sound of her shoes scrapping across the sidewalk
reminding her ex-boyfriends' back rubs
soothing her to sleep; she thinks of her night-mansion
and imagines bedrooms.

She strolls alone, draughting at red lights
and crosswalks, each passing car
a sudden waterfall crash.
When she stops and intersections are busy,
the traffic is thick
and a conveyor belt of tumults,
a refrain of orchestral hits sweeping past her
only inches away. She strolls alone,

breathing deep into her scarf while the chill
of the opposing breeze waters her eyes;
her night-mansion now on the coast,
a hurricane blowing against it,
she imagines rushing to her high windows,
closing them, shutting out the storm,
scrambling down the long halls
empty of pedestrians.

She strolls alone, fists cinched in pockets,
the thin slopes of her shoulders jabbing
sharp into the cold stillness swallowing
the around-her. She strolls alone.