In a Blink of an Eye, There Was Just This, Word Root Remaining in This Room

Stood on that Narrowed, Slanted Field at the Bottom of the Hearts

A Sort of Narrowness, a Kind of Wilderness-Filled Plateau Too

I’d Walked on My Field of Yellow Flowers, Parallel to You, Walking Along on Yours

So Many Years Had Passed

So Many Years Had, Passed

There’s Only, One Last Blink of an Eye Left in This Room Now

not my photo…

The Horses that, Devoured up the Autumns, the Cicadas of the Springtime

The Butterflies without Form, Finding the Nectars of the Questions Asked,

Along with the Things that Were Ordinary, Belonging, to the Afternoons

One of These Days, It Will Come

One of These Days, It Will Become, Willing

The Endless and Limited, Everything I Should Be Hating

Seemed to be All, in Relations to You

So, there’s that hint of a love gone wrong, or a love that’d ended, way too soon, and you feel that scent of regret from the poet, of loss of someone dear, and hating the individual for leaving too.