The great gift, contrary to assumption,
is to disappear.
—Barry Spacks, The Pleasures of Flow
Like the scent of lemon
once intense in bare hands.
Like cottonwood leaves—
how they flee
first in heaps
and then one
by one
leaving empty
degrees of space.
Like the last note
of the solo cello
after the bow
has stilled.
Like stars
in the face
of one
great star
so close
to us.
Like
the taste
of a kiss
that persists
long after
the lips
are
gone.
“…not fade away…”
Like/the “way t’go”/that lingers in the ears/years after the speaker/has departed./As with/the finger/still felt on the cheek/which flicked away/the trickling tear/from the eye now/behind glasses.
The closing image is especially strong here, the phrase “the taste of a kiss that persists” in particular. The one that is perhaps a bit too heady for me, “…leaving empty degrees of space…” which is a bit tough to visualize.