Asking
Janine Canan
After you have left, I hear the flute
play six notes and stop.
In the glow of the candles
you did not smile, your shadow
cast with the coleus against the wall.
Your hair flamed.
You asked How do I look?
and laughed, rocking on your chair,
hands clasped about your knees.
By the nighttime window
your face stood still.
Somber you looked, unexplained.
