Private ritual

It is
Exactly nights like this
That set the world in destitute.           I've been walking
The rain has made a poor man of me.        head-bowed
Curious of the world                       for weeks now. And weeks
I'm still,                                 translate, to months;
But the rain has bade me                   and months to years.
To let you go.                             So I've done it again!
I suppose you've said it well enough:      If the forlorn time and—oh such
Space could break us, divide us,           insensitivity, eternity, could tear
And separate us (and to remain painless).  stations and cities apart; why not
We probably weren't that in love anyway.   us, too (just as well)? Ai!—
Goodbye, my dearest stone-masoned love.    my sorrow's wound, my sweet cocoon!
Let this be my settled letter!             A lone bird you've made me.
So I'm thus unmade.

Dale Chou
2005-01-24