A Lament

To climb these stairs again
 Bearing a tray
 Might be to find you pillowed with your books
 Your inventories resting gowns and frocks
 As if preparing for a holiday
 Returning from the landing, I might find my presence watching
 Through your kaleidoscope
 A symmetry of husbands
 Each redesigned in lovely forms of foresight
 Prayer and hope
 I climb these stairs again a dozen times a day and
 By the open window
 Wait
 Looking in at where you died
 My hands become a tray
 Offering me my flesh, my soul, my skin
 Grief wrongs us so
 I stand and wait
 And cry for the absurd forgiveness
 Not knowing why