The dress hangs silent and lovely
from the hook on a once papered plaster wall.
White lace with a ribbon at the waist,
it begs to gently sway in a slight breeze.
This dress is but the legend
on a map of crisscrossed journeys
ticking off moments, days, years.--
leading here to The Headlands.
Voices can be heard nearby—
giggling girls all a-flutter
will soon gather and the dress put on,
all at the ready for these moments
to be launched into that giddy presence
that is a celebratory day.
It is good that
this joining which hides a parting
is so festive else, your heart would break.
