You go on, not remembering,
or else don’t care, which is the same,
and I think on the lovely ring
you took back, worn by what’s her name.
Nature consoles me; it has heart,
a heart I did not find in you.
Nature will not leave me apart.
Nature, in fact, is just and true.
The shorn grass falls out in my wake,
the swallows follow on my way,
I resolve to make a mistake.
Before I see the boy, I say,
"I love you," and your voice or God’s,
on the summer wind answers, nods.
© Julianne Carlile