He Imagines a Her

A face from a car window, a portrait’s eye,
The voice of a wrong number, the quick grin
Snatched into hindsight from a passer-by
And how that lady held her violin
Imply Her for a wink of time and pass
Into the field of anybody's guess.
Not as a monk sees heaven stained in glass
Nor Isis making love from ripped god-flesh
Beside some bitch who was the night’s best beast
He wakes and gropes with hands around Not Her.
Dawn comes a summer ruffian from the east
And time prepares him like a prisoner.
Song of the crowd, of wintry flower and sun,
He must discern Her in the unison.

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