First your jacket.
More like a flowing dress it brushed your ankles
amazing me that I could feel the softness from so far away.
Then the footsteps:
that a living soul was inside the sketch of you.
At last the iridescent freckles sprinkled, glittering,
on the curve of your face under your eyes
whose color I could not quite catch.
You’re like the gift inside the box they did not open –
the box that was gone when they came back to look.
To give in to temptation but find nothing
is to see the light through yonder window breaking
just as the
and your dress disappears around the corner.
I am learning well.