It was over between us, and a thunderstorm came.
Books fell down from the shelf for no reason
like domino stones as the grave stones they were,
and my thoughts went with them below,
taking all that was you, they went falling, deep
into the earth taking you. Gone as our love in a blow.
But the wind started turning the pages
of the Shelley I once got from you.
It had to mean something important:
we read it together, lying in grass.
I did not want to look but started reading:
“Alas! This is not what I thought life was.”