she remembers the sweet taste of night:
the rustling leaves, moonlight and
curved paths leading nowhere
but already there.
One hand carries an umbrella;
the other hand is empty,
wanting another’s hand to hold.
She remembers the lilacs in the plaza
beside a fountain that sang
a song without words
for people without ears.
All this she remembers,
while quietly unpicking the stitches of her life
until abruptly she encounters a knot:
The voice of a young man, strong and comforting,
transporting her into an electric world
of laughter and dancing,
his voice making promises like
“you will always be beautiful”
“I will always be here.”
But suddenly the knot is untied.
There is no other voice, no other face
in her dreams except her own.
As the moon rises above the city walls,
she also rises and begs another chance
to stand in the plaza and taste the night.