Where the apricot tree Poem by Hans Faverey

Where the apricot tree
stood still then
I stand still now.

Between the gladioli
I know the spot
where she stood then:
she threw me the apricot −
then. Now,

as memory does with itself
what it will, we begin
biting once more, almost
in unison, between

the maize plants: she her
apricot, I my apricot;

while the little foxes still prowl
through the vineyard, and the sea,
whispering: she is not with me;
no, you will not find it here;
she is not in me.