Of all the eyes that stayed within,
hers were the most piercing.
Recollecting memories of an arid autumn night;
reminiscing through the empty
faces of a crowd of thirteen, she stood
out. Behind, stood he, the one we all inevitably
call companion, with his hand upon her shoulder;
finger upon chin; word entrancing ear; breath fogging neck;
unrelenting anguish, unwilling to see her part.
Off, into the distance, into the lens of time,
into his eyes, she stared and stared
again. Seeking salvation in the heart of the meek.
Twenty-eight Falls had seen their rise and fall,
yet never could he shake the eyes
of the despaired, now departed.