Beggared

The quietness with which I watch you go
Deceives myself, the fact is past belief
That I cannot by calling on your name
Hear your light step and feel your hand touch mine.

But you move toward a valley where the wind
No longer stirs the waters, you inherit
Green pastures tongued with spring’s antiphonies
Far from my barren field the dust describes.

Sunflowers touched by frost shake out their seeds,
And wither in dry creeks the wild blue flags,
And I spendthrift of love beyond my means
Find myself beggared in an empty house.

I do not know the man who prospered here