Do you mind, she asked,
if I steal a bit from you. This
she asked again and again until
I discerned that the mere—
the mere asking
got her what she wanted.

Do you mind if I steal
a bit from you, I murmured
to myself, forgetting she stood by.

Echo like a candle in a cathedral.
Bit as in bite.

As she repeated and then
repeated herself, I felt the uneven

light, smelled
the warm wax, rising,
as heat does, to the face.

I felt her bite the echo from me,
from the great, arcing rose window face of me,
bought and stolen from
me, irregular
with rising warmth.