In alley-hung dusk, the rumors rise, soft-footed syllables dancing in disguise. Tongues behind doors, breath held in hush, truth smudged by the hand of a hurried brush. A name half-spoken echoes like prayer, draped in perfume, smoke, and heirloom despair....

  No set date... a ray escapesfrom the half-open curtainwithout asking permissiona drop on the windowis not a tear or a lamentit is the world that beats wind on the clotheslineclothes dance aloneremember there was a bodythe plant wakes upfrom an almost...