Traffic was howling in my ears and eyes that moment when we passed—she in her slim black dress, a gloved hand tugging up the hem— and for one instant all things clarified. Those slo-mo seconds in a film when fate throws two together and the soundtrack dims and he looks back, feeling the weight of time as it stands still and she moves on. Too late! Lightning, then night. Lost beauty. Happiness glimpsed and snatched back—as if a wave had crashed and took our footprints from us as its wash withdrew. Where can we meet now but eternity? Ghost-voice I call out to her silently: Woman I could have loved you—and you knew!
(Based on Charles Baudelaire's 'A Une Passante')