Audience of Strangers

It's been a very ragged sort of day. I always wonder how much the mood I'm in when I read something new affects my perception of it.

Only until this cigarette is ended,
A little moment at the end of all,
While on the floor the quiet ashes fall,
And in the firelight to a lance extended,
Bizarrely with the jazzing music blended,
The broken shadow dances on the wall,
I will permit my memory to recall
The vision of you, by all my dreams attended.

And then adieu, -farewell! -the dream is done.
Yours is a face of which I can forget
The colour and the features, every one,
The words not ever, and the smiles not yet;
But in your day this moment is the sun
Upon a hill, after the sun has set.

- Edna St-Vincent Millay

Past romance, jazz, and cigarettes. There's a dearth of sonnets on the subjects.

I should get new batteries for my camera. The pigeons have been abominably cute on the way to work the last couple of days.