Trace
If should the sky the rain withhold, could there be greater loss?
And were my eyes with farewell cold, could there be greater loss?
No longer do I carry you to soothe or kiss your cheeks.
If would my hands now rest and fold, could there be greater loss?
He traced with ink a line for you — your start and end decreed.
Had he erased the love I hold, could there be greater loss?
All I had to give you was the piece of soul you took.
Should you have left me standing whole, could there be greater loss?
Though I left you within the dirt, I seek you in my rest,
Had I forgotten you, Maryam, could there be greater loss?
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