If love is so wrapped in the past,
In a single gesture,
Or the scent of summers long gone
Her hair and skin lingering in memory
What is now?
When spring quickens again ,
Different eyes and mouth
Spark nothing but vague feeling,
So amorphous, diaphanous,
Fragile as cobweb,
Today’s love cannot match past memory
Today’s sense is brittle with age and anger
Today’s touch doesn’t stir devotion
Only the swirling ashes of fires long dead.