I would leave.
She would stay.
I would come.
She would sit.
I would talk.
She would smile.
I would ask.
She would answer.
I would leave again.
She would watch me.
She would cry.
I would not.
And now
She cannot remain
Or repose
Or respond
Or reply
Or regard.
She cannot cry.
But I find I can
Because she told me
It is okay.
Because she told me
Who I am.
(She already knew, of course.
She always understood.)
And I don't know where she is
(Except for the obvious)
But I believe she left something, after all
I and others will carry
Always.