I knew her rough direction
And could see the tracks
Although a train hasn’t been
This way in years. There was
A rose-petalness to her lips
As I kissed her good-bye,
And her natural softness
Which coupled with her
Adamantine resolve buckled
Her, sending her bloodied
To the ground. I found
Her getting into bed, furious
At her traitorous cramping-legs
Though not able to recall them
The next day and seeing no
Reason to stay as though
She were like me who puts
Words to these wrenching things,
Seeing the colors change and fade
Here as at the river, hemming
In everything I try to remember.
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