When He Left

When he left

We left, too.

Floating above our bodies

The whole of the world dropped far beneath our feet,

And all we could do was look down.

 

From here, he is the life we can no longer see;

 

He is the one bent blade in the sweeping green of earth,

He is the sap in the tree

The brine in the sea

The moss beneath the stone.

 

And as we fall to our knees

And back to our bones,

He is the marrow, he is the stone.

He is the whole new world, rearranged before our eyes.

 

From here, he is everywhere;

 

He is the clover in the greenest heart of summer,

He is the twilight blue

The meadow rue

The blackberry holding the stars.

 

He is the plum of the night

The grape of the vine

The pruning of the day.

 

He is the wealth and the mystery

The curious dignity

The aubergine carpet of thyme.

 

From here, he is the violet bruise on our gathered hearts;

 

Here to remind us that when he left,

All the purple asters stayed.