For Neda

Neda

Crimson stains the asphalt

like a pollock painting.

You lay on your back

as hands cover

the fatal shot.

Streams of red

flow out your mouth,

eyes see 

the blue sky 

one last time.

Neda

Neda

Neda.

_______________

http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/meast/06/21/iran.woman.twitter/index.html