What is it that holds you back
from me? I was already yours,
waiting to hear your voice
in a sea of voices, to know
your face as if it were my own,
each habitual trace of your body
an enduring memory.
Now everyday you are moving away
from me, a great bird disappearing
into a halo of cloud; the last sound,
the final sound (I cannot say yours or mine)
a call, a cry or howl.