The clap of sandals betrays her light steps;

A vague reflection mirrors her on the white tile floor.

I can only see her from behind—I don’t mind—

But I wish, still, I could receive her eyes more.

The maple door closes, I’m back in class.

My cool desk reminds me of ugly reality.

In the midst of my despair, I look up, she is there

For a tick not managed with frugality.

Beside me she sits, spaced two rows away

With a strong silhouette of a sculpted Greek Goddess

But with cotton shirt of green and stone-washed denim jeans,

Blue eyes and smooth skin too real for art’s hardness.