She Wrote a Poem Today

Under a shade, she sits
Iced coffee, cigarette
Trying to attain peace
People, noises, bells, dogs
Smoke--ah, peace.
Silence almost as false
As the stillness of her heart
Should I say his heart?
It is, after all, not hers anymore
She waits for him, as always
Her time is not her own
She is not able to discover
Art, in the form of wind
Through trees.
Instead, she is just as frozen
As the iced coffee
Locked in its clear prison
Only coming out
In small, sweet sips.