in the end
I had my table
with its single flower
its vertical window
gazing out
to the roundabout

I got up
hung in back
she handed me
the brown spotted oeuf dur
more baguette on the cutting board
I took the lowly ends
no longer to play guest

when asked her name
how beautiful it sounded
uttered from her heart
the play was over

its scripted scenes
assigned roles
bitter boundaries
rendered with such vigor at night
now yesterday's theater
diminished by the morning light