Or saw the skirt covered in sailboats. The window, a blank view filled
with exactly what she didn't know she wanted.
She knew what she had to have. A potential lover wrote;
I wear glasses. I don't eat pork. And I am very short?
leading her to a temporary insanity that the voice
she'd fallen in love with belonged to a dwarf.
Once in a while, the glib can't out-perform wishes —
description always phones in with blabber. Abides,
then hones in. But she invented nature from what she heard
and a window where she knows what she saw
better than grit mopped out of
the floor. Same. The price didn't matter.
A grip of love and need so soon, and a
fear of Christmas, too late. Price doesn't matter.
Red gingham or interrupt,
or delight abrupt
always homes with a thing behind a fence.
She saw cost so often she forgot its name.
Author Discusses Poems