Ten years later I met you beneath the glass
Of a lantern’s moon where we remembered
Our foolish hallowed conversations
Convictions that could never last
 
There had not been one touch between us
Toward a watery sky we talked of disbelief
How others did not see the magic we saw
How they treated us with mistrust
 
Now in your Armani wool coat
You shrug with every question, I make up
A consuming writing career, working late
A dot of a candle flamed a page
 
Cornered in the meeting’s disbelief,              
I said I tossed my long braid into the green lake
Where books of tragic romance once blew
Open and shut upon our red picnic cloth
 
I meant the action as a sacrifice
I had to let go of your charming coldness
Insulted, you abruptly left 
As I twined a ragged scarf around my neck
Dazed, I turned to walk in the slush of your boots.

— Judith Croxford