WHEN I LOSE YOU

 

When I lose you,

will you remember the leaves

of my brown name?

 

Not like an oak, which clings

snow after snow

 

but like the poplar

spilling her yellow dress

to the insistent fingertips of fall

 

The mother of grief

is a kind forgetting

 

and I tell you now

that I will forget everything

I will forget even you, beloved

 

Remembering light

like a leaf stilled in limestone

 

who would have thought

we could weigh so little?