So long, love,
say gnite honey,
I'll go pull a stump,
so here I am, the field
of night all around me,
crazy, sad and lonely,
what love there was,
like a bee on a rose
buried in the year book
of past attics, you never lost
my shadow because I
never had one beside you,
though you did lose a ring
once, or twice,
you were like a woman
holding mirrors
over the spring, there
are screws
in the window sill
never sunken to hold
a pane, you don't listen
for me in the rain
anymore, you lie yourself
back into the one
you think you love, cruelty,
cruelty, cruelty, that's all
you've ever known, my love.

I cry a little harder now
The tulip season ends in rain
As silent petals fall at dawn
With tears reflected in the sky
Oh summer please don’t come too soon.

Love Mary x

And yet again the night finds me alone
As this day slips into tomorrow;
Though my reason for happiness has flown,
Missing him is a beautiful sorrow

It may seem quite a melancholy task
Carrying this lost love to my grave;
Strangely, contentment wears many a mask --
His memory keeps me its joyous slave

All my gladness now dwells in yesterday,
Love's blissful past rests in twilight dreams
Where golden bees still sip the flower's spray,
And wild roiling seas become gentler streams

Time has purified the love we once shared,
In this realm of dreams there are no flaws;
Love thrives with a certainty never dared,
And is governed by joy's eternal laws

I now see his love through a different eye,
It lends greater comfort than before;
And the fear that his love may one day die
Lies in peaceful repose forevermore

Until this clay frame sets my spirit free,
I'll have memories from which to borrow;
Though seemingly strange my utterance may be,
Missing him is a beautiful sorrow!

The years add up
But you never truly forget  
Just cover it up
with leaves, some brush
an old sheet or blanket
A drive
a new route around
Sometimes an old box in a closet
or under a bed work fine
to hide the time

until the winds of seasons change
bare it all again

..and there's never any tissues around

A line as slow
and undulating as the Tongue
marks the horizon. Last summer's
fireline shadows the jaw
of the sandstone ridge.

Broken shards of hand-napped
tools litter the path. Sun drops,
and bison-dust rises
across the plain. One crystal tear
slides down the cheek of sky.

Nighthawk shrieks, and diving,
takes his prey. The Tongue laps
far below, ripples over pebbles
a song to soothe water monsters
who take us after dark.