When she said she wanted to see him
He was pleased – at first.
‘Can’t we talk of other things?’ he asked, but she said ‘No’.
The long day had held down light as they’d struggled to communicate in near-shadow,
Close – but not too close.
Sometimes talking’s easier done apart,
Detached, perhaps,
How on a windy day with the sun in her hair he’d loved her,
How she’d seen in him a God as he moved,
So blithe and light.
Those were past days,
But past days count,
And now in their disunion there was nothing to remind them of each other,
Except those past days.
‘Can’t we talk of other things?’ he’d asked,
But he knew (now) that memory was all that they had left.
Talking things over with an ex-.
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