if only she were there

She sits at the table 

with her small collection of treasure. 

Chooses from it a shell whose delicate edges whorl 

inward to a palm, a lifeprint. 

Inside this pastel saucer, 

parsley and chives recall a Japanese garden: 

clean, immutable. 

If only she were there, 

a single tiny figure by the pool, 

holding the letter. 

If only she were rock, tree, clear water. 

 

[Ellen Bryant Voigt {1943- } 'The Letter' from Collected Poems]