Those hours given over to basking in the glow of an imagined future, of being carried away in streams of promise by a love Ora passion so strong that one felt altered forever and convinced that even the smallest particle of the surrounding world was charged with purpose of impossible grandeur; ah, yes, anyone would look up into the trees and be thrilled by the wind-loosened river of pale, gold foliage cascading down and by the high, melodious singing of countless birds; those moments, Romany and so long ago, still come back, but briefly, like fireflies in the perfumed heat of summer night.

Almost Invisible: Poems