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