I pass her face one dozen times
And gaze
And marvel, at the length gone by
From days of youthful passion crimes
And rough-red Brillo hair,

And now attired in black and white
I muse
What meeting you were off to tend
With bun and blazer, and step in sight
Through rose-bowr’d meeting square.

Her heart-shaped cheeks spell anarchy
I think
Each time they catch me, in a flash
Is she the same one, calling me?
With breath-starved solicitude?

Or maybe it’s some other kin
Whose house
I purge and stove I clean, and sink
I scrub with thought of Pharoah’s sin,
And time-felt turpitude.