Memory of Loss
When I met you back then
You spoke in poems,
Concise parables of thought that
Fell like pearls from your lips.
"Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I
But when the treetop's bending
The wind is passing by"
And so I knew you were speaking of
Passing things, visible and invisible
"If I am not for myself,
Who is for me?
And if I am not for myself
Where will I be?"
Then I knew you were speaking of
Your own passage
"If I should meet thee
After long years
How should I greet thee?
In silence and tears"
And then I knew you were going on a long journey
And I didn't know when you'd return
So I live now in the hour of the fox
Chasing the long spaces between the moments.
I feel your absence, lengthened