Understanding comes:
why I woke up the other day
with such a sore throat, as if
I had spent hours sobbing;
why I couldn’t get myself
to the memorial service
for a lovely lady I knew;
why I‘ve been in retreat
and even escape since then,
attempting to silence thought …
and why I’ve been thinking,
nevertheless, of she who left us
already five years ago (can it be?)
on the same day as this latest
event which I didn’t attend. I did
attend hers, and spoke of her there,
and wrote many poems, then
and thereafter. ‘She is an angel now,’
we say, of those who have gone.
For her, that was always true.
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