So—
A poem for Sunday
You were that person
With
I shared those moments
With
That at the time
Had meaning only of the moment
With
Those of us with an earthenware bowl of pasta
With
A glass of good red wine
Well just a room of good friends
With
Some now departed was it into a neutral air
With
That friend those friends oneself among others
Many others
With
Plants against a window clear to reveal a river below
Their flat green leaves tongues fattened with water
And the gravitations of the sun
The attention of he who waters
With
Who turns the greens to the various angles
Of the sun spinning the morning
Shadows and the illuminated
With
The entire accumulation of the dark night
The fears infinity pain
A loss of love
With what
With this light left from those days
That came and went
What
With
What hid the days to come
With
With what
With what’s here now
With what’s left
With
And what is left
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