“It’s different”, she said to me, her eyes blazing

with the ferocity of one caught in the act of shielding

her pupils against the sudden rush of sunlight

that had crept over the green lush hill

full of potential and the intoxicating aroma

of diverse flowers flowing on the wings of Apollo,

not a rose in sight to pour scorn over.

“It’s as if the dance we had is the same,

the tune vaguely familiar and interesting, but the steps,

the ones we learned together, have now been altered.”