I know how you look at me:
tired with pain
and I feel pretty sure
we won’t do this again.
Still, I will wish you well
and hope that you live
receiving all treasures
the world has to give.

But when I look your way,
I strongly recall
our moments at first
when you offered all
of your tenderest lyrics
and kindest remarks
and I, with a sigh,
back in time can embark

and think of the ways
that we used to be;
how you’d look at me
so affectionately
and stare at me deeply,
so musically.
It wasn’t so far back
that you’d sing for me.

You sang to me secretly,
no one around.
You ensured not a witness
would hear any sound.
Though our days may be over
as all things must end,
I’ll remember quite fondly
each song you’d attend.

We didn’t kiss often
or barely at all
and perhaps afterwards
I’d be too lax to call
but still there was something
with roots between us:
a thing I can’t name
but a thing you can trust.

I think you still like me
despite what you think
and I know that we’ve both now
had too much to drink
but I suspect that you might have
a space left for we
even if that’s not
quite what you see.

But your oaths are respected
and so we are through
though I’ve got a thousand
more yearnings for you.
Among them, for one,
is to let my love be.
For another, admit
that you sang for me.

You sang so softly.
I knew it was real.
Your sweet melody told me
all that you feel
and though I’ve not heard it
in ever so long
in my heart, I can still hear
that beautiful song.

Our paths must diverge
as you so clearly wish
but I hope you’ll forgive
as I still seek to fish
for an ember still left
from the previous fire,
back when I acquired
your desired pyre.

Sure, the flames that I’d felt
have long since been quenched
but perhaps there’s still heat
from your heart I can wrench.
For dumber things happened
in less dire times
when a mariners’ albatross
got shot in old rhymes.

Perhaps there’s a chance
you can yet find a note
to escape from your glorious
black chokered throat?
Is there any way left
that I could appeal
so you’d sing to me sweetly
with yesterday’s zeal?

In silence you sang to me
absent a crowd
alone in the cold
and not at all loud.
While I’ll miss you entirely,
I most wish to extend
your soft-spoken voice
in a song without end.