For days afterwards he carried their leave-taking
in his coat pocket. A jonquil petal, torn and discolored,
a red thread from her vest,
a wiry spring of pubic hair salvaged from his tongue.
She sank down beneath a moaning poplar, white-
knuckled ground-root to pillow her head,
forearm across her face. He unbuttoned her vest,
rearranged her from the waist down and
kissed and kissed her, while the poplar hummed
and the unwatched clouds scooted by on rattling
trestles. They gave themselves wildly and slow,
and silent past words, having already said their goodbyes.