I trained myself to listen for little gasps

I trained myself to listen for little gasps
between her phrases, she had the same name
as the girl from a magical novel. I walked past
the library a few times, fall leaves were tame
in the October air. Who knows the trials
of love more than her? Words celebrate the date
when she dissolved the mystery, unveiled
the puzzling glory of God. I am up late,
a poet of dreams, illusions, living a livid
and passionate fantasy—just imagining stories
of harems. I recite only the most vivid
tropes, the images of wild, godless fury
and meditate. The artist in me is playing
the instruments of love in a spoken day.