She likes neglected stories
about glovers and ghost signs and stone walls,
glass bottles turned blue.
She holds on to daydreams
She watches faces at stop lights pass through
She likes cocktails at parties
She likes fog in the headlights and the moon in the skylight

She hides in a name
But she hopes that someday they say
Who was Aurouze

She paints pictures of women who loved more
than they could show with words
She likes the sigh when the coffee tin is cracked
And the colors you see when you close your eyes tight
She has stories she writes after she says good night
Where heroes are fragile and love gently blows the paper thin fig leaf aside

She hides in a name
But she hopes that someday they say
Who was Aurouze

She likes watching birds from up high
Where the granite for curbsides bakes in the sunlight
The white border on old photos
That show folks in love who still sleep tangled all night

She would jump the gulf
If no one asked what she’s trying to prove

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