She turned up all of a sudden
as a broken fingerpost announcing
the safest path to nowhere.
And she smelled so good
in the summery breeze
as the poems I have no written yet.
But she glanced at me like someone
that scrutinizes a face
of a missing person in a wall flyer.
On the tarmac, kissed by the rain,
still glistened the shadow of her last word.
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