To the Artist's Page To our home page
To Laura Fletcher's previous piece To Laura Fletcher's next piece
And to hold your hand for just this one night I would play your game. I can listen to talk of not loving him anymore. For you, whom I have dreamed of for years, your head on my shoulder at last, my hand is warm. You wear gloves I found in my jacket. They are small and blue. Old friends of yours pet your arms and talk about old times. They are my old friends now. You laugh like I have never heard you laugh. It starts so low and ends so high. It is joy. Your hand quivers, gives me your thoughts. I wish you would not wear the gloves.