If she loved you once, she might love you twice
but this is her game, it is played as solitaire.
No fine king of diamonds, no mad jack of spades;
no fancy club for the lovelorn where you
can outmaneuver with a winsome grace.
This is not the game where anyone wins.
It is one heart played and nothing more to spare.
Like a dreamy master game, one step forward,
crisscross, slide three over but the window will close.
Set a table as if waiting for two– although
no service is forthcoming, no challenge of wits;
not even remembrances served with an aperitif.
After a cleansing fast, she may even return;
but this is her game and still true to one heart
it is played alone, remains a lively solitaire,
a long running, loss-defying life of solitaire.
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