This is the moment
she re-
discovers her sadness:
moons that caved in,
touchstones marooned
in her mind.
She marks all as red
as the wounds she wore
out in the mirror—
taffeta-trapped,
gasping through
mouthfuls of harm.
Whisper of once-was
lingering yet
in her fingertips,
she dreams con brio,
bravura, codetta,
dolore.
_
