You can see right though that dress.

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 

extraordinary.