pome

And I have not forgotten
That what is left behind
Nobody really sees
Left unused, between
What has been written so often on these same keys

Nor is it what it often seems
What gain, what loss
This new winter
Coming, once again, how often
New dawning of cold mornings
Old ones not forgotten

Your summer, beginning again
An unknown opening story
And I have nothing to give
That hasn’t been given
Except again, words unbidden
And restless nights, taken as given