Strangers, a sestina variation

It was the last time I wrote in my journal,
I think, the day I saw you crying. It was dusk
And you were wearing that green
Linen dress with the pleats that makes you look like a lily,
Pale skin, dark eyes, and all. The skylight
Shone down on you like a halo.

You looked so small sitting there, a halo
Of wild curls surrounding your face; my journal
Suddenly wasn’t important. The skylight
Darkened as I sat beside you. Dusk
Was moving on, though we sat still, lily
Pale and smelling of things that are green.

You told me that my eyes were so green
Something might start growing in them. The halo
Of light caught in your curls, fragile as a lily,
Made your tears beautiful. I would journal
About them years later, in another notebook. The dusk
Swallowed us there, beneath the skylight.

Your name in the dusk never came through the skylight,
Though I thought of you as “Lily,” wrapped in green.
There was a halo of stillness around us, you and I and my journal.

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