just before we parted
in the space between the final word

just before a blackbird sang

evening rose with a sour milk moon
the countryside beyond
stood but a single broad bounded step

just before that final word

in that time
when our as yet unremembered day
trailed out to the low grassland

a shrouded whiteness fell
as cobwebs on happiness
threaded by the hope of love

that final word that breaks the glass
from which none can go back

and in which there is only parting