I’m a collector

Of bits of string, buttons and bows.

Memory clues.

I try to keep a piece of everyone

That’s ever touched me.

But I cannot find

Anything belonged to you.

There are, naturally, the memories,

But no object to grasp

To make them real.

Oh, there’s a faded letter

And an envelope

That tells of a sad moment

In your life,

But no sadder

Than this one of mine.

For you’re in a place

I cannot comprehend

Or accept.

I have nothing to hold

To bring back our days

And nights.


                                     March 20, 1977