The hour was late, and the others
were asleep. He struck a match
on the wooden railing of the porch
and lit a cigarette
while she beheld his head and hand,
estranged from the body
in wavering light….
What she felt then
would, like heavy wind
and rain, bring
any open flower to the ground.
He let the spent match fall;
but the face remained
before her, like a bright light
before a closed eye….
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