But what if, just like that, she disappears
behind a mortared wall without a sound,
all happening before my very eyes
as I stand by, a finger lifting not
against her all-encompassing escape?
Would I, in some yet undetermined year
far, far from now, look back on these poems
of mine and wonder what became of her,
what tragedy and success befell her
in her certain to be illustrious life,
and, heart brimming with curiosity,
attempt to reconnect with her, but all
to no avail?
The question is, would she?
--
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