With a splash of water from Dmitri's hand
The last curled-up double leap ended
The audience even after the last curtain call
Could not do else but ask for more
And you tell me that sentimentality carries a cloud
To remember not to cast my memories on to others
Those who have their own memories to carry
Their own past lives to dress and to undress
I am leaving you now, for a while at least
To forage my own landscapes, in my skyline beauty
Not in past streams and becks but in the new rivers
Which run down mountains not yet visited
Oddly I do this whilst Satie plays his Gymnopédies
I picture the pumice stone you spoke of
Did you expect this
Did you predict this
The tap drips, you know nothing of this
Dust inside your casket, you cannot see the ripple
Or hear the resonant cadence, though you sit
Sit beside me, on this October morning
