Nothing Left
Occasioned by Thomas Hardy (Thoughts of Phena (1890))
Her délicatessence distilled in a fragrance
Stoppered in a vial for a mourner’s tears
Re-awakens sun-lanced lotus memories:
The secret temple garden we uncovered
Long neglected in a forest thicket
Delighted over at green-mist daybreak.
Days of endless hours of wine pleasance
Unrolling like horseback Caucasian plains
Her hotel balconied cello nocturnes
Caressing the waters of Lake Constanza
Before… before the glowering darkening:
Our pain-wracked long goodbye unrolling.
Her fragrance, still lingering
In a flask of weeping,
‘Not a thread of her hair… not a line of her writing.’
© coolhermit 2023
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