Of all the hopes that glowed at each new meeting
through her windowing eyes and ocean smile,
she felt none answered by men's glad greeting,
their bland, blind charm seeming like denial
of her need. No glance they could have given
told her to look forward to their staying.
With a turn of phrase she could have driven
them away, but found herself delaying.
One never knows what each man's hand may do.
Cup her point of elbow in his palm?
Glide his back-of-hand aside, askew
from her throat to breast? But none of this could calm
her yearning, not like a father's hand drawn down
a shy girl's head to her temple from the crown.
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