From Vallejo    by  Richard Deutch

In that corner, there, where we slept entwined
so many nights, I've settled down
to take a walk. The bedstead
of defunct lovers has been removed,
or who knows what might have happened.

You came before, for other things,
you're not here now. In this corner,
lying beside you, one night I read -
lying between your soft breasts -
a story by Daudet. It's the corner
we loved. Don't mistake it for any other.

I've started to recall those days
of distant summer, you going and coming,
small and angry, pale, through the rooms.

On this rainful night,
distant from us already,
I jump up quickly: there are two doors
opening, closing,
two doors in the wind,
coming and going,
shadow     to     shadow.

© Richard Deutch