just before we parted
in the space between the final word
just before a blackbird sang
evening rose with a sour milk moon
the countryside beyond
stood but a single broad bounded step
just before that final word
in that time
when our as yet unremembered day
trailed out to the low grassland
a shrouded whiteness fell
as cobwebs on happiness
threaded by the hope of love
that final word that breaks the glass
from which none can go back
and in which there is only parting
The Blue Book
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