I am not going to share
Those high, those delicate
Cheekbones with her.
Nor the light feet I saw
Walking beneath the long
Stems, lovely of youth.
I am not going to name
The place where usual men
Pronounced on her
A heavy ritual stone.
They were all right, those men.
They didn't know.
In a panic once, she blurted
She loved me, and I had
Too much to say.
If I had only shared
The silences, she would
Have been all right.
But, no, I had to intone
A long harangue about
The this, the that.
Now this and that are gone,
And the high delicate
Bones are gone.
Light feet I saw walking
Bewildered by long stems,
She walked away.
And still I sit here talking.
And I still have, it seems,
The east wind to say.
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