R.C James wrote on Feb 19^th, 2013 at 12:20pm:

Traces

A fervency, close to alchemy, purified us;
recall the sequence, moment to moment,
the pauses , the lapses, air traced
as you defined voluptuous.

Passionate miners, we dug gems bare-handed
from the abandoned mother lode.
The rich vein blinded us on discovery,
consumed us in riches, but, source exhausted,
you deserted  the claim.

Witnesses report how children delight
at your Buster Keaton ballet in the rain,
how morning arrives for you on common stone.









You exhausted the source, deserted the dig, 
it was the mother lode you abandoned. 

Something close to alchemy worked for us, 
recall the sequence, moment to moment, 
the pauses, the lapses, air traced 
as you defined voluptuous. 

That rich vein blinded us on discovery, 
consumed us in riches we both held 
but had never fully staked. 

Witnesses report how children delighted 
at your Buster Keaton ballet in the rain, 
how morning arrives for you on common stone. 

Obdurate onyx revives itself from dead quarries. 
Any relevant claim has vanished. 





(orig.)

Once glittering gems 
we dug bare-handed 
from abandoned mines 
are covered with dust. 

You deserted the dig, 
the mother lode; 
the source is exhausted. 
I can’t find a way 
out of the blank trace. 

Recall the sequence, 
moment to moment, 
when alchemy worked for us. 
First the pauses, the lapses, 
then our separation; 

you turned away from 
that rich vein that blinded us 
on discovery, set us languishing 
In riches we both held 
but had never fully claimed. 

Witnesses report, after the break, 
how you delighted the children, 
whose eyes held treasures 
in the rain, as morning came to you 
on a narrow walk of common stone. 

I feel absence of color 
inside me, all around me. 
Obdurate onyx lies here with me 
in this dead quarry. 
My claim has vanished.