Sunday, October 20, 2013

Fascicle [18]


I may never know if twilight
was always
her time.
I know only what she says,
and then
I know only two men ravaged her heart
so that she may never speak of it
to me.
I who never knew her and may never,
I would lie with her by the bay window
telling time between seeing and feeling
clouds open.
First the man who could not give her a child.
Then the man who refused,
took her to the country
to camp.
He may as well have hired an auctioneer.
Who would know his ignorant, cruel folly
without beginning
The Mayor of Casterbridge . . .

(20 October 2013: II)

copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander

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