She wheels backward

She wheels backward with nothing to lean against falling away from the streets and predictability, the genetic orientation in which her feet can lead. Away from the roads are passages without definition that dip beneath dark solids with continuous overhangs, the shadows of sea blanched timbers silver in the borrowed moonlight, and emerge, possibly, into winding valleys between windowless walls, or where walls would be is dark that she dares not reach into to break her fall. She ever deeper as the distant light, still lapping at the blinds in the front room, is lost in the curving mess of her descent, back to the earth, where it slumbers beneath the vaporous and dingy sea in an open space created by her breaths falling slower above her. The open air cells, through an enfilade of doorless portals are separated by more featureless gestures. These apartments are only the dark space between two doors. She falls to the ground, through a door, in a brick wall, lit green, at the mouth of an alley that lets onto a broad asphalt parking lot. Back west into the alley is that grey twilight filled with temptation and the surrender of the day. In greyness you awaken on a beach, back on a beach westward. Although the night eastward is drenched in gaseous green light, it is in that direction that the sun waits. She lays on her back in the alley, pointing north her left cheek on the asphalt sticking to fine sand with the night above her bespread it claims the firmament.