her
desk, that eventual
after The Window, by Pierre Bonnard
keep her. carefully watch her
long fingers tap truths that
possess her like treasure,
gems shine with sunlight
open window
silhouette symphonic,
foot moves to melody,
mind whispers her Mala
unheard, she eyes far off
distant lives, (her
other life, that long-ago
left life, now forgotten)
Your wealth of truth dipped
perfect in sea-blue ink
she writes and waits for You.
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