the street
once sunny in early october
maples’ orange leaves
the woman sits in a chair
her white collar and painted-on smile
how she looks out the window
at the fabric in the shop
the softness of her hand
a quality of cream
of linen as if it has no weight
only a scent of jasmine
a scent of hemlock
of lavender
the color of her silken blouse
a lilac purple
spruce green
a taste of powder
beneath her ear
behind her jaw
tight spirals
pressed dark
against temples
wavering breath
of parted lips
as if to speak a pleasure
over and over
starlings dot a sky that's almost blue
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