Separation

Round the circle of her garden he walks, and stops
again, taking in, as one absent from his own
senses yet unwilling to forego their gifts,

the half-dimmed light of a low, prepubescent
moon, its influence on the lingering clouds,
some few stars brave enough to compete with

mercury vapor, halogen and tungsten,
and taking in also the pungent garlic circle,
 its enclosure of bean vines, celery, snap peas:

celebratory things, even in this half-light,
this dew of forgotten hours. His feet,
though well shod, warn him of night, by noting

the slow seep of dew round toes and heels,
while his hand, brushing past night-blooming
jasmine, shrinks from chill. These, and trees

he has encouraged -- apple, plum, pear,
cherry, maple,  and ash -- seem to him reproachful,
watching, as it were, his heart begin to slip

to a life they cannot share. Beyond, in a stillness
of curtained rooms, the woman and her children,
innocent of his need, dream of loss.