Off to the left, a trick
Perhaps of defective light,
A hovering cloud, gray
But black inside, glowing
As coal might with fire
In its center. A breeze,
A rose and it took flight.
It grasped at its
Possibilities. My mind
Flailed, like a boat at anchor.
So many memories from one
Day to the next. She
Began in my thoughts
To crumble. Her vivacity
Left her finally,
Leaving just
A frail cloud
With tendrils
Reaching back
For one with too
Much substance to follow.
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