There were days;
our happiest days, though at the time
we did not think them so.
A thought just touching sadness?
Perhaps, though even with kind foresight,
I could not cherish them more;
days that were above and beyond
the ordinary in their multitude.
Yet it is within this common,
and not our peculiar that I feel
love the most;
when we filled our wakeful hours
with beautiful living,
arrogant of our harmony,
a closeness that spoke of
the intricate puzzle of hearts resolved.
There were days,
when our only movement
was the blackening of our eyes,
and we were separate, save our hands,
which were not held, but laid to touch,
and that was all, that was everything.
Comments