Virginia in a Box
Shadows fret on her face
like the pigeon-wing mosaic
at her feet, and she's forgotten
the sound of her name.
What she remembers is elegance,
pearls at her collarbone
and the smell of jasmine, cupped
in the palm of the calla lily's curl.
She recalls dew
on the weeping lantana's leaves
and how dawn trailed through his hair
that summer morning.
But daylight's last stroke
has left her dissected - Virginia
in a box with her wishes
and the song of the ocean,
lost to an abandoned lover's chest.