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In the Seventh Year 

When you were here, you loved me with a whisper.
It’s been a long time since I have heard you whisper.

I’ve tried from time to time to sing again.
My slight yet poignant tenor fades to a whisper.

A kind and charming man joins me for a concert.,
his witty remarks a half-attended whisper.

Vital and attractive—why does he seem a shadow?
my heart asks my head, wondering in a whisper,

and, a few weeks later, as he lies in our bed,
and purrs endearments, I only hear your whisper.

You must not embrace solitude on my account.
Your warm voice admonishes in a silent whisper.

I listen to your favorite song of Fauré,
and later, in my dreams there sings in a whisper:

Notre amour est un chose éternelle.
Silvestre’s words assure me, a potent whisper.

We have loved well once, had more than others have,
and memory swathes me in an endless whisper.

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Speaking of Poetry

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