Quarrels forgotten,
departures, letters.
We will die; and leave behind
people’s longing
after a barely sensed trace
of some wave that waned
from their dreams, their hearing,
from their exhaustion.
In the wake of that
which was once called
ourselves.
Why then take offense
at life, at people, at you, at yourself,
when we will depart
from people together,
as one wave,
when neither snows nor rails but music
will measure the distances
between our
graves.

1958