His figure stood alone,
against a pole topped with an iron pomegranate
half husked in shadow
an inchoate lover's silhouette.
A fretful gaslight's glow danced
while he stood silent, stitched to his shadow,
a preying mantis
with dark legs poking out into flickering lights.
Head still, a window's reflection in two pupils dark as a raven's chest
Unblinking, gazing at what wasn't there,
detachment, unhurried away from silence,
and into loneliness, he accepted his finished night.
She had sat flustered,
crumpled layers upon crumpled layers
smoothed out every half-hour,
nervous hands like a lepidopterist's trade.
Yet she couldn't turn her gaze towards the window,
laced with a soft metal that appeared to drip like molten honey.
Moments as hours lifted her hands at last,
to rub circles on the opaque pane
where breath had fogged up clarity.
Shy smile, blushed cheeks the color of red spice
faded quietly with the view of an iron pomegranate,
lone guard over a cobblestone street,
dissolving quickly to a rising film of solitude.
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