The fantasies are fused and focused now.
Romantic dreams are cast and fast-portrayed
without restraint. A day will teach me how
to play the rest, or let the memory fade.

We had our time and mattered at the end.
I know we told the truth and gave it legs.
I just can’t tell what demons you’ll contend
with when I’m gone; becalmed you may renege.

A day or two can start to break my heart
and I may have to concentrate on health.
Poetic inspiration will depart,
I fear, and stories tell themselves by stealth.
Submerged and sad I’ll still compose my verse.
If I can’t love, at least I can rehearse.