So Many Things
Of all the things I loved
about you, there must be some
I had forgotten or
how else could we have
gotten there to the ugly
finish, the astonishingly
brittle end?
Who fixes in advance
these omnipotent laws, these
secret and unwavering
scales for all the shadows,
forms and dreams we
weave into this texture
of our lives?
There were doors you closed
forever, I know, but
how could I know there
was someone in our house
to whom I would say
a last goodbye?
These things were not clear.
To you the crossroads
seemed wide open and you
never expected forever,
yet you spoke as if you did.
There were so many things
left to do and say,
but you preferred to strike
their possibilities
from the slate.
We can never recapture
those beautiful words woven
in with the roses,
the gardens, the moonlight
and wine, for they
have all been forgotten
in the crowd of memories
milling, fading away.
Space, time and resentment
that replaced them
have left all those vast
yesterdays to which I bend,
and are melting slowly, just
as when, at sunset, the light
fades, disperses,
and there is night.
–Jo 2008
