Last off the plane
just home from the war
from my window I saw you
leaning against the railing
at the bottom of the ramp,
a single lily in your hand,
wiping your eyes
with the hem of your dress.
Odd to hug you,
to tread barefoot on foreign carpet
that first afternoon
in the apartment you rented,
still too dazed to foresee
that the drooping flower,
those tears for yourself
would color all our seasons
yellow.
I had such great plans
the last day I loved you.