A filmy peach like candle wax, but
loose, but shiny, like a glazed donut.
And everything behind the dress
appears just as pale also with a gleam.
I have had the dress a very long time
but have only worn it once. The occasion
now forgotten because in that dress I am
absorbed with me and with the dress. Distracted
completely by the feeling of being hidden but also
being visible--but softly visible. Pencilled in.
If I crossed my leg, you might have thought
something under the dress was winged
and had just fluttered.
Everyday movements all seemed grander,
evoked a desert wind.
In the dress, I became a phantom, a past self
climbing steps to a platform to accept
a crown or an award or something else