She was the dusting of a comet,Hair flowing in the orbit's wake.
Whose passing-first-was now returning, As my eyes began to grey.
And as I watched her cross my circuit, Through refracted northern lights, The memories of an older yearning Are with me-to the day.
She was the remnant of a potent flame, Flung towards the sea to wane.
Although my gaze towards her was longing, I doubt she ever knew my aim, For at that eager cusp of youth, From there-we broke away
She was the venting of a thousand lungs, In smoke rings and blown kisses.
And as I gaze into the dusk, I ply one simple secret, Take bearning-twice-for parallax, And thus you plot your way.
She was the learning of a foreign tongue. Soft rolling, rippled-flowing.