Tending the body of the beloved, you see
something mortal there that love cannot cure,
as if you cannot think the body tended still
has arms to hold you, as if already
this one you love belongs to some other
estate where we only ever go alone,
as if pausing at the edge of a wood
one says let’s turn back now and the other
says I think I’ll linger here awhile,
go on without me, I’ll catch up.