SPRING LEAVING
Crocuses again -
you eye-bound only
to the season of love
and I to the quaver
of the clock chimes.
Crocuses are always coming
between us when we have slipped
a little farther apart
in that falter of love
between two chasms
of dark winter.
Something of winter
in me I do not comprehend.
Last night promised spring,
was frost-free,
hours ahead warm with planning.
But suddenly crocuses again!
The way you look at them
stabs my heart.
Soon strings will be plucked
apart. This wild, twanging melody
of alien familiarity
withers roots.
Did you say
When you'll be home
again?