Another woman has become a widow.
Another woman who thought she would die
In her husband’s arms
Will now wear white
And return to the darkness of an empty room
near an empty bed
with its mattress rolled up
in which nights of laughter, and the light of touch
rubbed its fires together
in a love uncovering the unspoken
distances of the flesh.
The lamp she shuts now
will tell her of his face, of his hands,
the sad lost look in his eyes looking into hers
that almost said to her,
you who seemed to have an answer for everything,
now, tell me a way to undress by this stillwater,
and we shall together hold hands
and go back to twenty,
when you were the fire
I longed to burn in.
And you were the only drops of water
I needed upon these lips before my eyes close.