I sat with her body until morning. The blueblack cold mimicked her blueblack skin. I chafed her feet with lemon-scented lotion. The corridors were quiet, a stillness only found early on Sunday mornings, holy and soft. The women will come, their white headscarves, and we will wash her body. Earlier, I left my place beside her, the gravel bit the soles of my feet. I tried to pray… I closed my eyes and thought of water and you God, and the sea. A nearby pond, swarming with koi, stared like her swollen eye. I sat as they washed her. I couldn’t help. They scrubbed her away with damp flannel towels until she became a small, blessed, infinite thing.