She looks into the mirror, examines the young
skin and fragrant hair. A light-green pear
is surrounded by oranges, the veils are flung
like shadows into the closets. I can now hear
her sighs as words, the way she walks across
the room in heels. O see how the stars appear
when the Sun starts to set? She gives her hair a toss
into the breeze and she opens up her palm
to receive light. I meditate on the loss
of love, on plain desire, on the blue film
that filters out the light, on how she sang
the aria at dawn. The oak trees were calm
when the Sun rose again, the yellow rays rang
as a choir and her eyes seemed ever-young.
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