A flash of French
yellow skirt
on a chilly evening
but then who can say
what it was,
billowing just
like a memory of
damask in that painting
or a slit in this silk
of the universe
diffuse as dear
stars that no one notices
even if they twinkle like sequins
until the wind shifts, swoons,
layers lift, and
someone picks up
the hint, then gazes
in the space of a gust
on the sheer.
Tara Deal is a freelance editor in New York City. Her poems have appeared in a number of publications, including West Branch, Flyway, and The King's English.
