So you took me to your lover’s grave
where it rained at the end of Summer
and we watched a squirrel
that lived on the graveyard
without disturbing the dead;
we said nothing too.
I saw you dancing with her who died,
both in the sunlight while it rained on,
she gave us her blessing
in the whispering rain
or did you hear her not say
The next day as we ate together
the soup which I made that was too salt,
the soup that should warm us,
I cried for the failure,
as it was the dish I cooked
for my first lover.
We drove along a small dead squirrel,
lying on the way to the harbour.
It was all we knew about
the lovers before us;
we shall never know of
those that come after.
Our love on the mainland, strange and wild,
took us back and forth in time and place,
until I stood there on the
cold deck of the ferry;
the last time I saw you,
fading in Autumn.