Did she have a lover all those years ago? 

Would that cancel the truth of the years together? 

I only know that here is the murmur of the waves,

And the spindly branches tremble on the trees

Where the morning light is thin, flimsy

The vagaries of auguries are spread out all over the antique branches

Of oak trees

And the birds sing gently together

This rising in the East is magical;

Maybe, this is my death day

Dawn peeps over the horizon

And her sadness is reflected in the sea,

And the calm  of the sky.

The countryside shimmers under frost,

As I walk along this crumbling cliff edge,

Staring into the past, glancing at the future

The sun is not your messenger today but I read you nonetheless

Desires, memories, fears form labyrinths

Which I will not walk again.