No One Word
No doubt these years later I remember
Both more and less than there was,
The necessary evasions and elaborations
One comes to after a long time alone.
There should be a new word for old love,
One I'd write in the dust of your books
Still on the shelf, some last thought of us
Resolving into all the words never said.
I could tell you now how your paintings
Of Giverny and Argenteuil and Arles
Became windows, portals to passages
Never made, though I picture us there.
Or how the small pane of stained glass
You hung by the fireplace prisms into
A blaze of light when the sun catches it,
And moonlight turns its pale roses white.
Another spring, and you would have said
The cottonwoods are snowing, the drifts of
Puffy flakes frosting the window-screens.
There is no one word for any of this. O
My dear, my empty life in crowded rooms.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 491 times
Written on 2012-04-06 at 15:41
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