The Love From Afar
written by: John Grey
He was like a camera
aimed at one woman
three desks away
from eight in the morning
until five at night.
He became sensitive to her cycles.
She bloomed, she faded,
as much in his eyes
as in her face and body.
He never stopped.
His aim did not veer
toward any other target.
So, without speaking to her,
what was he able to discover?
That her hair rested just so
on her shoulders?
And her lips formed a bow?
Her cheeks were unblemished?
She laughed for no reason?
She cried now and then?
But he had hope
just knowing these things.
He could look at the world
and discern.
Undeniable, irrefutable –
people go to their graves with less.
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