Poised between her and her:
One who is here and one who is gone.
One switched me off and this one switches me on.
The one who switched me off was one I loved dearly.
The one who switches me on? I see her a bit more clearly.
I think of the one who is gone
As a wife who wasn’t a wife.
She was a catch that wasn’t a catch,
A life that wasn’t a life.
This one here? The poet? Poetry cannot be steady.
She might leave me any day. Possibly
Today. But what is a poem? I am ready.
