In the street, a whisper,

A stray voice.

A woman approaches,

Her words are incoherent.

Her coat is too big,

a new Migros bag, and the black one too heavy.

She's homeless,

There's little doubt about it.

Her gaze is soft,

as if she weren't there.

She doesn't seem sad,

Even though she has nothing.

She leaves, almost cheerful,

And that's when I see.

Her fingers are pale,

The skin, regenerated.

Frostbite gone,

Pain almost forgotten.

Her body is offered,

To cold, to indifference.

Yet her soul is a sun.