I know what Edna felt when she described
her sundered heart as something like
a little pool upon a hollow ledge
thatís drying inward from the edge.
For one again, once more,
I did not see your soft approach
towards my door,
to hear your upward footfall on my stair,
or smell the fragrance of your shoulders
and your hair,
and have you nestled in the cradle of my arm.
Another weekend shiftless, poor,
spent and gone, and bare,
without you here.