IV.
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THE NIGHT
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It is the night
she walks through a door and into the world,
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sits in a corner in a white dress
with tears in her eyes.
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We recognize one another
in the form of the broken heart,
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her golden ringletted hair
absorbing all of the light in the room.
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The years peel away
and I am a young man again, yearning.
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When she speaks to a friend
her words are a foreign language I must learn,
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when she speaks to me
it is in an English accented by gypsy fires and conquered
centuries.
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She lingers for an hour,
the world is focused, and I know it.
When
she walks out of the world
I know I must have her if I'm ever to be whole again.
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