It is still there, at the beginning of
The chapter I never read, marking
A point at which it all went wrong.

It is still there, in black and white:
The name of another film for which
We were late; a date on which
It all went inevitably wrong
Without disturbing my unshakeable belief
That all was well.

It is still there, in spite of everything:
The book has moved upstairs,
Its reader has moved out,
Its owner has moved on,
But the bookmark remains snug
Between the same two pages that have
Formed its home for more than four years.

It is still there, while so many things
Are not. Its words have faded
While its meaning has intensified,
Its significance has increased, it has
Changed by not changing at all.

It is still there, between words I read
And words I will never read,
In a book that is hers and not ours,
In my home that is to me
Just a house once again.

12/06/2016

Posted on 12/19/2016
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince