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in luminous gossamer she moves

through the twilight, filling the sky

grace incarnate

far below, amidst thousands

deep in darkness, I crave her notice

but a call, gesture or breath would disenchant

I know she is metaphor, one of myriad masks

radiating equally on all

yet I prefer to see my, not the beloved

at last her gentle gaze pierces my heart

I am raised

then a clarion rings over the valley

someone’s phone flashes on the effulgent departure

questions linger in your eyes

you ask of colored lights, broad wings

I shrug, shake my head, finger the feather in my pocket

and smile.