The sun highlights the ash-tree’s
Shadow against the golden shadow
Of the grove; the stained-glass windows
In the church of defunct histories
Vibrate beneath the laughter of the bells,
And the full skirt of an adventurous
Woman passing by makes the edges
Of the path in the meadow shiver.
I’m leaving you because you aren’t
Anybody anymore, she had told her lover
Over a carafe of new wine
Whose brilliance reheated the room.
She walks on smiling, all the time allowing
Tears to glide down across her lips.