Fortuna Standing at the top of the hill, the grass matted down, a swirl of stars overhead. A city roams the earth, under roiled clouds, its lights sparkling too bright for any star's glance. Blackness looms on the edges, for these are mountains at midnight, and the hill rests in the valley, and the girl rests her body, chest heaving, heart racing, muscles weary. Dogs bark. She hears footsteps on a dirt path. She runs, runs fast as a tired body can in the murk of a moonless night. Are they chasing? Are they gaining? Her legs tell her story. The wind calls her name very softly, very dryly. Her skin prickles, feels the cold in those words. There is nobody, and no city, and there is no nightmare behind where her feet touch. Dogs bark, but because they are lonely. Because they are too far away. She forgets where she is, why her lungs rasp. Her mouth cottons, her lips crack. Her pupils switch back and forth, back and forth large as gilded plates. Drowned by her heart beats, crickets still chirp in the roar of a river bulging red in her throat. Breathe in, out, in, out. She breathes through nose and mouth both. From the snow in her eyes, the low hum, she knows what the tower knows when it collapses down on itself. Dust rises. She falls and the dirt reaches up, the grass calls out. At the edges, naked, she appears like a ghost or a frost on the grass. Kiss, kiss. Leave her that. Turn out your lamp. Sleep in the wake that your city makes. The siren you hear is not meant for your ears.