Afterwords.
The wind that blew so long has died and nothing can carry my voice.
I look for nothing left and find
some old shoes you wore out without me.
I find a poem you wrote
when you could still be hurt by my sternness.
I find recipes for meals you never made me.
I find a photograph of you naked with someone\'s baby
I knew was mine.
You were younger than I remember.
Your tears had dried and you looked happy.
You were happiest.
I loved the world entire and you it\'s fountain heart.
The tears were dry.
Nothing bad had happened yet.
Later
It happened before.
Later
you bought lingerie
to face the future in,
and misconstrue the smiles of needless men.
You took it with you when you left.
And your dry tears fell silently on the threshold,
not needed where you went.
In the end;
I will be very old,
And sit amidst the laughter of children,
and think of you without fondness,
or not think of you at all.
Not remember anything of so great a love,
or so great a fall from love.
Perhaps I\'ll turn some time
and something old in me will reach
the beginning of absence,
and grasp at emptiness
where you might have been;
Loved amongst your generations,
had you but small forgivenesses or greater love,
Had you spoken with your voice while the wind still gently blew
And not your lingerie.