Insignificant

These days
I’m often swayed
and overcome by what appears
to be the sorrowed  fact
that I’ve become,
been made,
within the memory

of her who was
before she turned away
the centering, the flame
of all my Oxford days

and others since  
who uttered once
their ardent bright,
desire-filled words to me
until another lover
crossed their path,  

an unimportant shade
regarded now within  
their recollections of  
the quickened moments in their history
as someone wholly insignificant,  
a triviality.