His vine that had the strength to stand alone.
But she had arms and eyes for only Daniel,
Worshiping her now. She seemed as near,
He whispered to himself, as lamplight must,
At midnight, to poor moths. And yet no brush
Of fingers, such as Berrien might have frowned on.
Simply her brilliance chained him, simply her arms,
Her eyes, took hold of everything in him
And hurt it.
“So you let her go,” she said.