What Remains

How, like you, I worship the sun


I dreamed Rodin’s Garden

That we were made of stone

Dappled in morning light

Warm to the touch.


My walking man

My thinker, a kiss.

My Orpheus.


How you charm the animals

Make the trees dance.

Your music is your blood,

the poetry in mine.


How I, like you

Look back,

Make sure my love

Is safe.


And to do the opposite?

To walk out of hell and not search for the face

Of the one you love

What kind of stone cold heart is that?


What greater sadness is there

Than distance, than being unable

To walk with the ones we love

Out of this hell.


Julia Klatt Singer   March 2020

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