TO MARY

Your voice is silent, hushed in that deep sleep

But still-water, flowing

By the path we used to take,

In understanding music tells the things

That only you could say to me.

My surety of this is past all knowing.

My hand is empty ... wanting your dear touch,

But through the day

And most of all at sunset, one gold ray

Of light ... articulate

Reaches to clasp my all-too-wistful fingers

With loving caress.

The night beside me stands and stoops and lingers,

To tell me of your nearness.

Then sets the stars
That never have been there before your going

To guide my sleeping thoughts, seeking, forever seeking

Your too-missed, too-absent, dearness