Just Beyond Reason

I stand on the terrace
of the grand house in Dijon
watching the evening traffic.

A mini-car stops below
opposite the great doorway.
A blonde woman sits in the driveršs seat
beside a partially visible companion:
a pale delicate profile framed
by thick, permed curls.

As she waits, very still, tranquil,
the strap of a small shoulder bag
slips down her bare left arm;
her right arm moves
mechanically to slide it back.
She never turns her head.
The light changes, she drives on;
the moment of connection gone
leaving a sharp sense of loss,
a cluster of nanoseconds
swept into mystic, fragile
memory.