By HAZEL HALL
I had forgotten the gesture of branches
And I had forgotten the fragrance of blossoms
Filling a room at night.
In remembering the curve of branches
Who beckoned me in vain,
Remembering dark rooms of coolness
Where fragrance was like pain,
I have forgotten all else; there is nothing
That signifies –
There is only the brush of branch and white breath
Against my lips and eyes.