I can see you once were beautiful.
Bells must have rung.
The green hanging garden felt the waterfall
and sighing vines were lazy
as the sun sighed over you.
You made them feel gravity goes in all directions,
not just up or down.
In this moment for me, you still do.
Your shape is much the same
and I discern you discern
the essence of a situation.
Public details hide things. You see
I’m vain about my poetry.
The charm of your inquisivity
smiles as you look directly at me.
The whole room felt it.
One I knew for a long time looked sad.
Yes, I am vain.
I write this. (Is this poetry?)
And feel glad.