Classic Poem

So she spoke, after all.
In her fashion . . . . Oh well, yes,
she'd said hello, even smiled,
from the line at the cashier-stall —
in simple surprise, I'd guess —
then took her turn, profiled

there at the till (that un-
consciously nuncial
head-of-an-angel re-
fulgent, sculptural). Then was gone —
the way, if one were to pull
a shade, a sunbeam would be.

So she'd gone, years before:
wherever a light goes
when you cut it off,
or a wildness, a furor
amoris . (She'd known those
languages well enough.)

It was outside, later, she spoke —
in her fashion: Factory-new
4-D with full overhead-
rack, banjo-wire spokes! ...
Ah, Dante, seeing us two,
could have interpreted

for both: Her in her glory,
her waiting, to make it show
clear across the parking-area;
and nessun maggior dolore
che ricordarsi ... tempo
felice nella miseria ...