Elusive Mummers

Loving her didn’t come in pieces,
And neither did it come as a whole,
It was as if she gave you a whole of
The different parts in which she had
Divided herself, her soul, into. The sole
Pure face she ever kept to herself was
Like a deck of cards cased to form a portrait
Of beauty in imperfect symmetry; only, if you
Moved one card, the whole picture would
Change, not because it was faulty, or because
It would fall, no; but because it would become a story
From another puzzle of hers which was
Stronger, harder, braver- but what mattered
To you would disappear because the grid
Of complexity which you were trying to
Solve would never be the same; she for you
Would never be the same. Loving her wasn’t
Hard, or easy, but once you loved her,
You would realise it was only a strand,

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