Solitude

I await her every day. Will she come back?

I think about our parting evening: the bang of the door that she shut

in anger; the silence that then settled in my soul.

I await her every day. Will she come back?

She would come in, saying, merely to say something:

"I was passing by your house and I came to see whether the roses have suffered because of the winter."

Then she would smile at my garden

and at the calm horizon - and I know that she would never leave again.