Hindsight

One gone away, one killed. As for the rest, who knows
what to say of them? It was no one's fault.

Seasons turn; oleanders come into bloom; as the sun
moves, so a shadow walks round the tree. That tub of water,
left out daylong, simmered in the heat.

We could have walked it round the tree
walking in shadow as the shadow walked,
finding a rhythm for that, a soundless music, until
there was nothing left of us but the shadow-dance.