the redbuds passed out of the gardens
and only redbuds there remained.

poet! what was it you wished to imitate in gardens?
look, every bit of us is lonely, all lonely
what did we seek in the occluded parts of words
what did we find in our language growing as it fades?
the silvering of Time must yet endure, so above us
when we looked what we saw were mirrors

however you had existed, so were they lost,
the soul of a summer and an autumn's body
both united and diverged in you
poet! who knows how many loves you saw founder
in your poems, swept away in those deep waters...
for reason neither of the rocks nor the tempests

they were secluded spots passed out of our words
and only secluded spots there remained