The days and dates are always available.
They synchronize exactly, only each
six or five years, to the times you recall
among the tenderest nostalgias.
But the days and dates return each year,
despite accelerating decrepitude;
you only have to match them accurately.
They are like the notes of a broken chord;
phrases, fragments, of a melody,
sheer as the silk of a stocking (your girlhood's
beauty); the words with which a poet, once,
composed, about you, poems of love's desire.
Poems that gathered, until the other---
the brash, bipolar, predatory mark---
snatched you away in a jealous rage.
The days and dates are always available;
but synchronize only once each six or five years.
Starward
[jlc]