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Rhapsody

Wendy
Howe


Rhapsody

 

By tomorrow, our old world
will breathe memoirs
venting its passion
in the fountain pen splattering
of blue mist.

Tonight, it drifts away
on the scent
of a burnt-out candle,

after sweet words were spoken,
and kisses given
like last rites to a dream.

Now, the wax slowly hardens
relinquishing its warm flesh
to memory posed smooth
as �Odalisque.�

The room�s long shadows droop;
and we know � 

�Love� will soon pass,
deliquesce near dawn
into a flight of birds

washing the past off their wings
pulling light across the river.


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Copyright �2001 by Wendy Howe. All rights reserved.
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