Janice D. Soderling 

Villanelle from Madrid

But with regret she watched him walk away
into a mournful stirring of guitars.
Perhaps their paths will cross some other day.

A violent scent of roses paved his way,
a funeral smell to end their bitter farce.
But with regret she watched him walk away.

She did not weep or beg for him to stay,
the night sky breaking into falling stars.
Perhaps their paths will cross some other day.

Another little god with feet of clay.
Another aging woman with old scars.
But with regret she watched him walk away

Which the stalker and which one the prey?
The gypsy night knows all particulars.
Perhaps their paths will cross some other day.

She watched the curtain fall, without dismay.
What lust has locked, due time unbars.
But with regret she watched him walk away.
Perhaps their paths will cross some other day.