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We were gentle lovers once,
or, perhaps we might have been
if the tangled web of life
had drawn us closer in.

That curtain shields us from the heat
beyond the window’s pane.
Far visions seem the only feat
for eyes that will not wane.

Yet on the glass are etchings of that cloth
that keeps the frosted span
‘tween is and might have sought.
Perhaps with all life’s lessons learned
and Phoenix burns to lime,
the frosted lines will disappear
as spirits dance sublime.