Classic Poem

Your absence
holds the shape
of your face.


I repeat your name
in the night.


This chair
where you sat;
those days


in the park -
how far we wandered
in those days;


our manners delicate,
the air gentle.


A discontented man
would stare at you;


a burdened woman
look away
and feel


that she was you,
back when ...
and one day, you’d be her.