Florida was warm to her in the morning
the conversation skipped, false reason
called to her, almost got her, pulling her
loving heart around for a mere beat

she once was living by half, not often
by love, and she slipped out of it all so smoothly
out of her cell, creeping out, to be again

the city was telling her, in short, it knew
of the weathered arms that she had once amazed
still clutching once-fresh words grown blue

Florida was soft to her in the morning—
and she was!—a woman for whom you would
wait for three minutes or three hours
for three weeks or three long years