I knew you would not be there;
For you there was no ocean side,
No Qibla further than a certain sweet pride in overdrive
where love subsides and tides
Abate. Never had you inhaled the sweetness of judicial margin, exquisite error
In support of some solitaire, the natural aroma of one last evening.
You never rose with me through the blush of blessings, supine against the skies—
If remission comes it comes too late—you ever cared to look beyond my eyes.
You never saw in me the configuration of your leaving
Nor anticipation, no lighter scent of all that pain you left behind.
Had I been honest, I must admit I always knew it would be so. While
Reticent and cautious, you smiled
On all that came to both of us in all we thought we’d find.
I had the feeling that you’d only blocked a single scene,
Some routine rehearsal while I stood reverent in the splay,
transfixed by what I’d dreamed.