It might be vanity           or it might be the beginning       of loss
the trickle before the flood
the drip-drip of an iceberg’s first spring melt
a few splattering droplets on your forehead before the downpour
petals scattered below the vase limp and curling  browned at the edges                                                   Â
It might be the beginning of the end       Â
  of the world’s loving you
Before            you would walk the streets         a magnet in a dress
a candle flame seducing the night       drawing felt and trembling wings
you were a firefly at dusk      children chased after you
with cupped hands and grass-stained feet
Your beauty was a door                   an entry point to love Multitudes surrounded you     worshipped you at their altars sang your praise in a thousand ballads penned pages upon pages of verse in your honor in its infinite poses      they painted your body on canvases       in ink and oil they ran themselves to exhaustion      jumped and swam and wrestled  with your hourglass in their minds you were some kind of masterpiece your face was a silken flower where electric bees hovered your mouth      a glimmering pool      a cave’s entrance  where divers dreamt of wet depths you resided at earth's center all turned in your orbit they followed your limbs with their eyes           like tracing a bird across clouds in your belly    you sheltered a gem           that greedy miners        yearned to excavate you possessed the flesh they craved            the nectar for which they thirsted    Â
Maybe you knew this      or did not
Now       it is a little death as they pass your worn face     on the street without even a glance Today      you listened intently and could almost hear the faint creaking the whisper of wood on carpet    that permanent click of a door closing        in the night
