Absences

Donald Justice  

It's
snowing this afternoon and there are no flowers.

There is only this sound of falling,
quiet and remote,

Like the memory of scales descending the
white keys

Of a childhood piano—outside the window,
palms!

And the heavy head of the cereus,
inclining,

Soon to let down its white or
yellow-white.

 

Now, only these poor snow-flowers in a
heap,

Like the memory of a white dress cast
down . . .

So
much has fallen.

                                    And I, who
have listened for a step

All afternoon, hear it now, but already
falling away,

Already in memory. And the terrible
scales descending

On the silent piano; the snow; and the absent flowers

     abounding.

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