With the orders to Germany I knew that it was over
He would not stay in touch despite my grasping almost begging
The teaching years, the insurance years, the Quaker years, the chaplaincy years;
I guess it was just too much change to track.
Or perhaps because on active duty a sergeant - captain thing
It really doesn't matter when you love someone.
He could have helped me fail promotion
With so much less pain
So much less loneliness and anger.
We could have laughed at my pretentious ambitions
We could have told stories of our failures with women
Or memories of our parents
Or a thousand other things that build the great intangible that binds.
Now none of this matters
He was almost dead two years
When I learned he was gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem