See now my despair is one elegant glove
dropped inside the red-carpeted theater
by some careless lady.
The usher cries out to her,
“My love! My love!”
His voice rings hollow among the brass railings.
Would that she had left her arm behind with it!
In the puzzle piece morning they would discover me whole.
Hope turn your eyes, your round grey eyes, my way.
It is time you looked at me.
Copyright 1995, Catherine Weaver All rights reserved.