An Account of the Fall

She said, “There’s no accounting for taste,”
as she walked through the garden, and I,
I said, “There’s better things gone to waste,”
as I knelt down to lie
and we said goodbye

She had mysterious dreams that night,
full of angels and strangers, and I,
I dreamed of nothing but shadows and light
from a flickering fire,
when we said goodbye

We each awoke to finish packing
for the journey apart, and then I,
I tried to give her back belongings
but she said they were mine,
and we said goodbye

I said, “Our hearts were made to break,”
so she’d know that I knew.
She said, “They’re broken to be made,”
and she broke mine in two—
but we’d said goodbye

And now the dusk accounts for me
in the imminent darkness I fear—
I fear the sanguine moon will see
hearts are still broken here
since we said goodbye

(February 2007)