Her Latest Girlfriend Stole the Silk Tabriz
and Left a Cat Behind

And so she lives apart, slim and austere,
among adobe walls of mauve and plum;
Tibetan prayer flags sway in cool dawn air,
their shadows skirl about her sleeping room.
She takes Ashtanga Yoga twice a week,
meditates, brews pale green tea each night;
the Dalai Lama beams upon a desk
that sits between two bookshelves: her retreat.

And, now and then, she’ll take a hike alone,
or ski, or see a film, or simply drive
at dusk through shades of hills and twisted pine
to watch the moon escape an ancient cliff;
and wonder why she needs to try again,
to be a judge of women, or of men.