A scene that never played out

Solsticanto

She shakes her head and the sun falls from her hair.
“Something miraculous will happen to you at eight-
o’-three tomorrow morning.” I would never call her
an angel to her face for that would be inadequate.
Neptune in late afternoon, her eyes. The hollow of a
medieval forest in shadowplay at the small of her back.

There is a scene that never played out: a small café,
après rain, a glint of moonglass in a box, a hand to a
covered mouth, a teary yes before an extended finger,
time stained forever in salt and the brief moment
that makes us into we. This never happened.

But the sun that fell out, the eyes that pierced amethyst
in deep sky, the angel in the unterwald—all of that did.

Joseph Gallo
December 10, 2007