An audition

when she sang, she sang a rhapsody

tender words that arced across the room on golden strings

like her un-brushed curls that flew in the wind

from the open window behind her.

(we all wanted to close it, but we didn't want to get

close enough to smell her rancid wildflower scent.)

she had been quiet, with eyes that confused us,

the color of dark maple syrup, somehow

reminiscent of the foggiest corners of our dreams,

so we looked away at first.

we focused on each other,

our faces glowing in the too-strong light of late afternoon.

we weren't expecting her voice to sound so sweet, so soft,

pure as a forsythia breaking out of a thorny bush

as April dawns in all its verdant shades;

we weren't expecting her to laugh when she finished,

a deep throaty laugh,

before walking out, heels clacking

against the sun-dappled floor,

leaving us to sit and consider her voice.