Too many sad goodbyes this week.

                    If I believed I had just so many
          of these chartreuse days--
Days with your face framed in the Spring fizz
                              of wild plum and mimosa--
If I couldn't believe in a life beyond this,
          a life possibly made of such perfect days,
I would hold you white knuckled
                    till you tore yourself loose.

                    I have to believe in eternity
Or I would watch you pack your bags and feel
          my life dripping like water through cupped hands.
I would howl at your taillights vanishing down the drive.
I would wither as I watched you leave.
                    I have to believe in eternity
Or the stretch of empty days in empty rooms ahead
          would slowly dissolve to shadow and ash.

                    If I didn't believe we were bound
          for all time, for beyond time,
I would claw back every inattentive morning--
          all those idle conversations
                    spent calendaring and scheduling.
Every moment painted over with humdrum errands
                              would be blasphemy.
                    If I could feel the bottom of the pool,
                              touch the edge of the cliff,
                              sense the absolute end to us,
I would drop each pettiness--each hard word,
          each bitterness, or poisoned irritation--
                                        like a hot pan.

                   If I thought my days with you
          were finite as rubies clinking in a bowl,
                              I would be a miser.
                              I would hoard them all.
                              I would not give you away to strangers.

                   If I didn't believe in forever,
          I could never let you leave.