Waiting ten years under a lamplight
her youth slowly trickled away,
when he returned she’d turned gray.
She recalls the moment, the delight,
when he smiled at her on the way
to the university library, he thought
she was someone else; it brought
two strangers--an affair, a few days--
something that seemed like love;
she loved him, if that’s the word,
thinking him other than what he was.
Mistaken all the while, from the curl of
first smile; there’s no exchange of words--
eyes pierce each other, sleeves brush.
(if crowded there’s an occasional touch)