Walking down the moutain

in the midday rain,

I passed a girl, moving slowly,

with sandalled feet uncertain -

taking impossible care.

Even from behind

I could see something wasn't right.

Self-conscious,

afraid to scare her

on such a lonely track,

I snapped a branch in warning

beneath my feet;

but she didn't turn.

Nearer still.

Me, deliberately puffing.

she, soundless.

The water sliding

off her grey-black hair.

(It's hard to fathom now

she was even there.)

Yet, I certainly passed her.

And as I did, nodded,

said a short hello.

Her face, I think, feigned to smile

but showed only pain.

I went by quickly, moved,

tried to stop myself -

unsuccessfully -

from glancing back.

She was staring downwards,

ghost-like,

clothes clinging

to her forlorn figure,

almost stationary.

Each of us

on the same path,

soaking our struggles.