Solitaire

It was the perfect move,

she had worked hard at it 

None could top it,

not even, herself.

There was no talking,

or any other shift

to cover, or warm

to that, fact.

Plain enough to see,

the sheered beauty

of that truth.

So she did not need

to move, no, more;

 to be moved so.

Sweet stasis, dear solitaire.

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