I stroll along the promenade and look down at the river
I know so well I could traces its curves in my head,
and I ached for the leaves of trees that fill its banks
to change because I feel changed inside,
this is her river as much as anybody's filled with her
curves,
her smells, her frowns, so I cannot look at any of it
and fail to see her, I stand with my hands firmly gripping
the stones of a wall that has stood here long before
either of us existed, and will stand no doubt long
after we are gone; I come here for lack of a better place
since all places have her residue, some places
less painful than others, least painful here
as if those memories that cling to cling to these trees,
this shore, and me, have a cheerier fell I can't find
elsewhere
I come here often when I miss her most, and cling to it,
its leaves, its trees; holding onto this last vestige
of what I know will eventually pass
No comments:
Post a Comment