Before we went underground. Before you fell through a gyre with no sound.

If one piece were unwound. If you had run. If we had looked  for you
sooner. If you had screamed. If the gods had intervened.

Nascent. Still blooming, the orchid on your window sill. A thrill of
color.

Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.  Phantom limb. If the soul
leaves the body, we did not feel it go. Nothing and everything
cloistered in stone.

Omens we left for others. Ripples on a resting pond.
The whistling of a breeze. The imprint on the ovaries.