gone away,
there are walls
through the woods
where pasture yawned
the soft echo of a different green
lingers in hay fern and moss
gone away, love
the barn between the giant maples
reduced to this square
where the floor was poured too well
the loft, vanished between
those velvet fingers of loss
gone away, love, but
there are walls
running from the brook
to the old road
to the old road
and so often, when walking here
I mean to sing your name
gone away, love, but still
I mean to sing
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