Sad Song

"The song of love
is a sad song,
hi-lily, hi-lily, hi-lo,
the song of love
is a song of woe -
don't ask me
how I know…"

(Traditional)

 

At what point does presence
turn to absence?
Is it when I hallucinate you
working where light's halo falls,
forgetting that your mass
and volume, desk and chair
have been displaced,
leaving their invisible
impression on the atmosphere?

At what point does absence
become pain?
Is it when I understand
no words can wish you
home again,
that mine is now
a stranger's door, 
that all the paths
your footsteps trace
lead elsewhere,
evermore?

At what point does pain
become a memory?
Is it when I no longer
feel a metal clamp
that cuts my breath,
when air moves freely
through my chest,
and I don't hear
your phantom tread
rove restlessly
through every wall,
or sense you working
as day breaks,
across the narrow hall?

Why do our cats
keep sleeping on my suitcases?
Is it because they fear
I might escape,
attempt to follow you?
Back through memory
to pain, and thence
to absence.
Silence roars.

These three pretenders -
absence, pain, and memory -
expand to fill the chilling space
your leaving makes,
and nothing I can do
will recreate your voice,
light up your face
beneath the shade
of reading-lamp,
assume your shape,
your posture as you pore
over a text or score,
re-occupy the hollow,
once a core of psychic energy
your presence generated
in this desolating place.


* * *

"The song of love
is a sad song,
hi-lily, hi-lily, hi-lo,
the song of love
is a song of woe -
don't ask me
why it's so…

I sit at the window
and watch the rain,
hi-lily, hi-lily, hi-lo -
tomorrow, I'll probably
love again -
hi-lily, hi-lily, hi-lo..."