How easy it was, to stand and look at the stars
with a cigarette in the middle of the road
on a cold winter night, when life was ours,
and all was holy, together, warm, and good.
So blue—remembering the distant years
that fell away—the stars still where they stood,
with us after dinner, and no fears
so much as hinted at, yet all that flowed
away somewhere, lost but to memory
that itemizes all the things we see
and which can turn an after dinner walk
filled with rapid breathless timeless talk
into great pain, the opposite of gain,
and can betroth the opposite of growth.
I want to hug you again! I want to hug you again!
And feel the cold tears burn, and kiss your mouth.