Blushed with moon glow

the hours pass slowly,

a lingering scent of rosewood,

fading footsteps at the gate.

She snuffs out the candles

flickering on the nightstand

saving their remnants for

another day.

With the elegant hands of

a fragile ballerina

she gathers her scarves and

stores them away.

Opening windows

to a room that belongs

to no one, she waits.

Mark Spain Art