they told me she was walking through the hallways
but when i looked up all i could see was her train
like it had been dipped in the blackest ink
then dragged through the most silver of stars
we were talking like we were becoming royalty
and we could never know what was buzzing
underneath the veil or where she was walking -
or whether she was walking towards something
or leaving someone to glare as she went on
i smiled and tried to agree with the storm
but she looked over her shoulder at me
and it was spring and winter all at once
when for a splintered second in the hall
i thought i had seen the entrance to the place
where someone so young could understand us
more than she could understand herself -
where poetry for the less concerned could be seen
or understood in a way we never thought possible;
because we could see our bones lying in front of ourselves
but we couldn't recognize our faces in the mirror