I find myself swept into a sort of reverie by this poem, whose author describes an experience of trance almost, a trance of loss. It's an effective poem, and affecting. After several readings, I'm only disappointed by a couple of images in the octet, wondering if it woudn't be more honest to admit that there's no memory of her in any mirrors, and though there may still be a slight scent of perfume on her clothes, it isn't wafting around the house anymore. She's really gone.
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