Untitled # 1

by Christine Bayeux

I saw her sometimes
during my walks in
the evening's fading sun.

A peculiar girl,
neighbors recanted,
when she floated by,

Never acknowledging
them in passing. I,
having watched her, seemed

To understand better. In
her gentle oblivion, only
she lived, no one else.

She acknowledged light,
sound. Tilting her head up,
rays bright and bold

Enveloped and lit her face
to a delicate shimmer, a
babe of the fading sun.

The distant tinkling of
wind chimes danced through spring
air, playing to her soul.

Light's glare warmed her,
and music's travel touched
her and she came alive.

Glare, not light, affected
me and when I closed
my eyes, sneeze bursting

Out, she disappeared.
On my last loop around
I looked up at her window.

She was there. Her
fingers curled around
burgundy drapes, her head

Peered out through them
when a single tear drop
ran down her cheek and

Disappeared. The sun
had gone to bed and
I would wait until

It awoke to see her,
When in quiet appreciation,
she loved its fading light.