I have grown 
in the fourteenth year, learned 
what I don't want, taken 
what I can. 

So now, when the aching 
awakens the bride to move, 
she does 
with sovereign grace. 

A phantom blocks 
the glare from her 

independent stare, 
adding grey-- 
just enough to soften 
the edges of her dark side. 


©2000 Peggy Putnam Owen