She has not gone from me. An expanse of memory, A wide and empty sea On whose horizon she stands. She turned away from me. All that’s left is memory: A word, a smile, and me A willing captive in her gentle hands. She’d sometimes look at me, Our eyes meeting fleetingly In a brief infinity, Gave me hope of rest upon her strand. Her soul encompassed me And with me, all humanity. Her being so full of generosity, There was no place for me to stand. A footstep, laughter, voice or word, a body’s graceful line, Trees and mountains, her spirit’s home, of her they all are signs That point to one enduring truth: Memory’s a cruel master.