why is it
that every time
i am asked
to look
for a new girl
a new woman
a lady to share in my
affections
i cannot
bring myself
to let go of the past
i cannot help
but bring myself
back
to that shimmer
that sheen
the shining light
in your eyes
but no matter how many times
i recall your glance
your touch
your skin
like silk
i find myself
further
and further
from your arms
and so in your space
and on that empty finger
on which a ring should be
i turn our love
our once-was, could-have-been
into art
so
shall we start?
the bell’s a ringer
see
who will we be
together
or apart?
let’s see
Edmund Wilson 