Dovina3 Aug 2006

I found a glove along the road and wonder if it’s yours. It’s worn and soiled, but soft of leather and pliable when worn. Finding its mate would be like looking into eyes I never expect to meet, and would surely cause my legs to refuse to move. Though I might think, “beauty gazing down from above” I would not say it, for coyness’ sake. Nor would I agree so readily to madly love, when so much time remains to savor it. And I would spell it, “Manhattan.”