I slipped out to water the olive tree
Parched after twelve days of grief.
Copious scent of the jasmine blossom
Untasted.
No serried ranks of seedlings in the vegetable patch;
The house an echo in its perfection;
The oven cold;
Ornaments beginning their collections of dust.
He had welcomed me with reddened eyes
My hug a hopeless substitute for
The familiar voice
The secure routines
The teasing arguments.
