Stand close to me.
These words are hard to say alone
And they need speaking
Even if it has to be here
In a city worn with snow, rain-pocked
At the soggy rim of March
Instead of that height we'll never see again,
The light-sifting mountain hold of leaves
The moist wind quivered in-
Words from the splendor, green chambers
Of that heavy inward forest
Whose thick roots soak in warm rain.
I have known you always. For you
An ancient cry shakes me hollow
As wind.
No one who ever was
Was like you. But it is too hard to live
In promise.
I am trying to say goodbye, to tell you
That my mouth will never kiss your hair in sleep,
That leaves wither into cold pledges.
This is mine:
Nowhere and never will we meet again.
The last gift. The promise I will keep.