Aramis, she thinks it was,
But she can’t remember;
All the wrapping paper strewn
There, across December —
What was that, the warm and close?
Scented candle drippings
Windy August brings to mind;
Sliding on her slippings
Once, there was, but there is not.
Edge of canyon yearning
Thoughts forever in her mind
Tumbling and turning —
Who is she? She doesn’t know.
No new light is breaking —
It’s not emptiness she fights,
But a fullness
Aching
