To climb these stairs again Bearing a tray Might be to find you pillowed with your books Your inventories resting gowns and frocks As if preparing for a holiday Returning from the landing, I might find my presence watching Through your kaleidoscope A symmetry of husbands Each redesigned in lovely forms of foresight Prayer and hope I climb these stairs again a dozen times a day and By the open window Wait Looking in at where you died My hands become a tray Offering me my flesh, my soul, my skin Grief wrongs us so I stand and wait And cry for the absurd forgiveness Not knowing why