A Poem While Treading Water

A Last Poem

I walk in a gray March rain
On a path hung with forsythia past their bloom
My heart crumples like
Last year’s leaves      Not
Because you will not be there
But because
I cannot care if you were

The sky widens in wet blindness
I mourn the very loss of pain

 
There’ll be snow, they say,
Towards morning.

 

(3/30/85)

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