And so the shift, 'twixt gears of
Passion and those of despair; easily
Done, devoid of signals to alert
My dreary mind of its occurrence.
There might have been reason,
At least speculative notions,
Why we came to impasse,
And why you left and I stayed.
I dare not reach conclusion,
Nor do I attempt to find peace
With the tempest raging beneath,
My calm, unyielding surface.
Did we not enjoy some discrete joys,
'Neath pebble-dashed ceilings and dim lamps,
When you brushed your hair aside,
And it glowed in the darkness.
No, there is nothing to be done,
No way to turn but awry.
You walk to greener pastures,
I'll wait, to see if you return.