In Mind

There’s in my mind a woman
Of innocence, unadorned but

Fair-featured and smelling of
Apples or grass. She wears

A utopian smock or shift, her hair
Is light brown and smooth, and she

Is kind and very clean without

But she has
No imagination

And there’s a
Turbulent moon-ridden girl

Or old woman, or both,
Dressed in opals and rags, feathers

And torn taffeta,
Who knows strange songs

But she is not kind.

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In Mind