No Time

She left me.

What voice colder than the wind out of the grave said :“it is over ”?

Impalpable , invisible , she comes to me still

As she would do , and I at my reading.

there is a tremor of light as of a bird

crossing the sun's path

and i look up in recognition of a presence

in absence not a word

not a sound as she goes her way

but a scent lingering which is that of time

immolating itself in love’s fire