Backlit by gaslight she vanishes
Around the corner into the fog
I calibrate gears and dials on my forearm finder
Adjust the setting to mysterious and flip the brass toggle
I’m rewarded with whirs and clicks
Clockwork hands spin wildly
Much like my heart did a few moments earlier
When she came into the bistro, looked briefly around
And then left, abruptly, without a sound
Now the finder points the way
Into crooked alleys and unmarked lanes
Where I see no winsome beauty in high buttoned boots
But I smell a faint trace of her scent in the damp air
I hasten forward
As I turn a corner I see her
Ascending a rope ladder into an airship
A hand reaches out and pulls her in
The ship shudders, swivels and moves ahead
Picking up steam
So I flip the switch and walk away
Beguiled
David Trudel © 2013
